Shattered
by JackOwens1860
Summary: Story from Bruce's POV. Clock King is planning to do something potentially cataclysmic in Gotham if allowed to. Bruce and Damian set out to stop him. Things go wrong. Time is fractured. Instead of one Robin, there are four…the key to repairing the damage to time itself lies in them. Bruce must figure out the solution before it is too late…NEW CHAPTER ADDED 08-22-18
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Story from Bruce's POV. Clock King is planning to do something potentially cataclysmic in Gotham if allowed to. Bruce and Damian set out to stop him. Things go wrong. Time is fractured. Instead of one Robin, there are four…the key to repairing the damage to time itself lies in them. Bruce must figure out the solution before it is too late…Set to run for multiple chapters if well-received. Please read and review.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered**

The Clock King, his real identity unknown at this juncture, is proving a difficult target. The boy and I have been tracking him across the city, but have yet to devise a way to stop his repeated thefts of banks and technological institutes. We have deduced he is implementing some manner of time-altering device, one of his own design, to speed or slow its pace during his crimes. Fortunately, its effects are extremely local in concentration, affecting only the immediate area near the device up to a distance of five metres. We can also assume such a controlling device requires a significant power source to operate for the periods that it does. Therefore, its battery life is finite in the current portable form it is employed. The idea of waiting him out has already been floated. It is not viable because his technology does not stop with this dangerous mechanism. He also uses teleporters, modified flashbangs with retina-burning fluorescence and a high concentrate of remote explosives with unique fragmentation patterns. We have a containing strategy though. To that end, predicting the next probably target will be the Teem Institute of Technology in Downtown Gotham, we have camped on the adjacent building to await his arrival.

It is close to midnight. Our surveillance has lasted two hours. The boy is growing increasingly listless.

"Could you be mistaken, Father? Perhaps the pattern is otherwise." He asks now gazing up at the sky instead of the direction of the institute. He turns and slouches back against the ledge, splaying his feet out and resting his head on top of it. He is tired of surveillance. He has never had much patience for this facet of our jobs. I would chide him if I suspected he had done anything but recruit every fibre of his being into not voicing such scepticism.

"There is always an element of doubt when operating without definitive intelligence. Do you believe I am mistaken, Son?" I say without moving my gaze away from the building's entryway. He sighs.

"You are not in the habit of making weak assessments. I would imagine you are not wrong here either. It just seems…"

"I know that you're bored, Damian. You do not have to say otherwise." I say. He scoffs.

"That would be unprofessional on my part, would it not, Father?"

"You make no secret of being only eleven years old: children of your age often tire of inactivity without your sensibilities to action. I am pleased you waited this long to voice dissention."

"It is not _dissention_ , Father. I am merely being pragmatic in the circumstances. He is not here, we are…we could be incorrect in our theory." He does not like being accused of disobedience by me. Others may scream at him for his lack of consideration, manner or flouting of conventional etiquette until their lungs burst and receive nothing but a smirk. When I remark on such behaviour, he is always ready to defend himself. I find it oddly sweet. I spot movement on the westside of the institute. A single figure is moving into a CCTV camera blind spot with practiced ease.

"It would seem not. We have a visitor." I say to spark his interest. He turns back around and scans the building.

"Where, Father?"

"Westside, mid-point of the wall."

"Hmm. Just one?"

"So, it would seem. We need to be careful on our approach. If it is not the Clock King, we need to deal with the situation quickly." I say getting from a seated position to a crouch. The boy mirrors me.

"And if it is him?" He asks as we begin to round the rooftop to swing across the divide. I am simple in my instruction.

"We will have to take him by complete surprise. Anything else and our chances of success fall to nothing."

"Understood."

Our initial approach lands us on the roof of the institute. Despite the lack of a skylight, a large portion of the roof is sloped upwards and made of glass. The glass will be reinforced and far too thick to cut through by hand, but does give us an interior view that stares directly down onto the lobby area six floors below via a spiral staircase. Even in low light conditions, we see our figure cross the lobby to reach the institute's main science labs on the east side of the building. A positive identification is not possible at this distance, but a strange distortion effect was noted in the area immediately around the figure's body. It is a hallmark of the Clock King's time-bending device. I glance over at the boy.

"Did you see that?" I ask. He nods without looking up.

"The distortion effect. So why is he here, Father? You said that he wants to build something bigger than his device but never said what. What does he need from this institute?" Damian is an astute scientist. I imagine he will be very interested by what our adversary intends to construct. I have purposely kept him in the dark on the Clock King's motives until we could be certain of his presence here tonight.

"He wishes to complete the world's first working time machine." The boy's first reaction is to scoff at the notion.

"Well, he can't. Time travel itself may not be an impossibility as you have aptly demonstrated, but there is no way humans can possibly harness the ability for themselves." I am in full agreement with him on the matter: I do not believe the Clock King can succeed in this venture either. It only makes his attempts to do so more dangerous. My own experience with time travel almost resulted in the destruction of the space-time continuum itself and had been orchestrated by beings who knew what they were doing. Were someone to try and replicate the feat without the requisite knowledge and understanding…It does not bear thinking about.

"The Clock King believes he can. His appearance here today is to acquire the only energy source capable of supplying sufficient power to attempt time travel, the Infinity Engine." I say as we descend on the building's west face to reach the labs as quickly as possible. The boy proves to be nonplussed.

"That is not exactly a small item for one man to cart away, Father."

"True, but he only needs a flatbed truck for transportation. The engine can be lifted by a team of six with little difficulty."

"So why is he the only one here if he intends to steal it? We have been watching for hours: any vehicle even coming close to the institute would have been visible to us. And there are no additional idiots on standby to move such an object. It makes no sense." I sense Damian is close to grasping what I have already deduced regarding the Clock King's visit tonight. He is not here to steal the engine…yet. The boy continues explaining to me how little sense it all makes for almost two minutes before going completely silent. The penny has dropped. "This is a test. He is going to…"

"Attach his device to the engine to see how powerful the battery is."

"With that boost in power…the range jumps from five metres to…" He pauses as we reach the ground undetected by any security measures. "How large is the city?"

"The distortion will encompass the entire city without problem when connected to the engine. What it will do when the field is amplified to such an extensive range is the unknown variable here. His devise can slow or speed time but cannot stop it. So, we will either live at a fraction of normal speed or blink out of existence in a matter of minutes. But we will not be frozen." I tell him in trying to decide how best to gain entry to the laboratory and keep the necessary element of surprise. Ironically given our target, time is short. In less than five minutes, the Clock King will have connected his device and plunged the city into chaos.

There are no emergency exits. The walls behind the brick façade are solid titanium and reinforced to withstand significant explosive force. There are no windows to smash through, no skylights to descend down from. The building will not yield simply because we need it to. The only option is to infiltrate through the main door and go through the lobby like Clock King. Scrambling fields should mask our approach on security cameras and negate the building's security alarms. It will be obvious to security personnel something is amiss, but we have no time for greater planning. I am already on the move towards the main doors. One is ajar from the previous intruder's entrance and we slip inside within twenty seconds. The lobby and hallways are negotiated in thirty seconds. Less than two minutes later, we are outside the laboratory where the engine is being held. Again, the keypad encoded door is open. Standing either side of the door is not an option since it swings outward.

I stand on the right, pressed against the wall with the boy to my immediate right, and cautiously peer inside the room. The Clock King has his back to us. The distortion field has been temporarily halted whilst he adjusts the mechanism. Judging from how he is already resealing an access panel on the device, he is ready to connect to the engine. It is now or never. I signal to the boy to be ready for a flanking assault in five seconds. I prepare a smoke grenade. Five seconds elapses during which time we don respirators. I toss the grenade a moment before it functions and hear both the sudden hiss of escaping smoke and gasp of surprise from its intended victim. We enter instantly after. Smoke clouds the room, shrouding everything from view. Projectiles are thrown to estimated positions. Nothing is heard. I would like this to be over. It will not be. I see the flashbang just before detonation.

"Eyes!" I call already shielding mine from the resulting flash. Clock King employs specialist lenses to counteract the effects of his own weaponry and so will be unaffected. The flash lasts between one and four seconds. The smoke dissipates after twenty seconds in a well-ventilated area. In this enclosed space, we have an additional thirteen seconds of cover. But the sprinkler system is already active, complicating issues. The overpowering sound of water, combined with my current sightlessness means detecting and subduing the target is an exercise in instinct. I sense a presence and swing my left arm low, catching a leg.

"Idiot!" I hear my son yell. I am mistaken. The time is up on the flash. I open my eyes and search for the Clock King. The smoke is escaping into the hallway. I see him with the device already connected to the engine. He is moving to turn it on. We are six feet away. We cannot close the distance in time. Before I can calculate a winning strategy based on current factors, a shuriken is sailing through the air. Damian's aim is off by the slightest of margins. Instead of striking the Clock King in the back of the head, the star hits the device he is trying to activate. For a moment, I believe the points have not penetrated the casing. Then everything is engulfed in an electric pulse, exacerbated by the water. I am knocked unconscious almost instantly.

" _Bruce?"_

"…"

" _Bruce! Get up!"_

Someone is shouting at me from above. I groggily open my eyes. I am no longer in the institute. There is a dark sky overheard, tinged red. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles ominously. I attempt to climb to my feet, only to find a green-gloved hand offering assistance. I take it, assuming it is Tim. When I stand, I realise it is not Tim. It is not Damian either. It is Dick…as Robin. He is…a teenager again, somewhere around fifteen if I have estimated his height and build correctly. It makes no sense. He looks worried.

"What happened?" I ask him. He shrugs.

"I don't know, Bossman. We were fighting Freezy-Pop in the Bowery and then something hit. I got knocked out cold. When I came to, I was in Park Row and you weren't anywhere. I've been looking for you for almost twenty minutes. You okay?" Victor Fries? I check my memory palace for confirmation of such an investigation with Dick at fifteen. I find it. Fries had set up a base of operations in the Gotham Museum and was planning a large diamond heist to fund more treatment for his wife. We stopped him before he could follow through on the plan…in the Bowery.

"This is wrong." I say looking around for any sign of Damian or the Clock King. "I have to get to the Teem Institute." I reach for my grapnel and prepare to fire. The fastest route is over the…I stop when I do not even recognise my current surroundings. It looks like the Bowery at street-level, but the buildings are all incorrect. Several of them are new, but do not look it.

"Teem Institute? Never heard of that place, big guy. You sure you're okay?" Dick asks from my side. I regard his face with newly discovered scepticism. I no longer trust my eyes.

"Take off your mask." I say. He frowns.

"Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yeah, of course, but…we're on the ground…You said never…"

"Take it off. Now."

He removes his mask to reveal blue eyes. I analyse them carefully. There is nothing to suggest he is not Richard Grayson. I take off my glove and run a hand over his scalp. I feel the scars from his beating by Dent. I recognise their pattern. It is a unique identifier. He bats my hand away. "Enough with the weirdo behaviour! You want to see the mole on my ass next?" He snaps replacing his mask.

"You don't have a mole there." I respond turning back towards the unfamiliar landscape. The device malfunctioned. Time has been fractured to some degree or another as a result. Dick is twenty-eight years old. His childhood ended a long time ago. I pull my glove back on. "Where are we?" I inquire.

"Somewhere in the Bowery, I think." He says as more thunder rumbles in the distance. It sounds closer. I doubt it is a good sign. I must find Damian. I check my communications link. It is working, but is jammed on transmit only. I elect to send a message in case he can still hear me.

"Robin. This is Batman. If you can hear this message, proceed to rendezvous one. If you arrive before me, wait the allotted time and then fall back to rendezvous two. If all else fails, rendezvous at location Alpha by daybreak. Batman out."

"I'm right here, big guy." Dick tells me with a bemused expression. "Did you hit your head or something?" His communications link is the same frequency as Damian's. I did not see a need to change it after he left the mantle. All of his successors had the same allocation. It made transitions smoother. I look up.

"We need to get to higher ground." I say preparing my grapnel again. He shrugs.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's do it."

We are stood on the rooftop of the Ace Chemical building three minutes later having reacquired our bearings. The city is not just quiet. It is devoid of any life whatsoever. Every street is empty. Every light is out. Lightning flashes red on the horizon. This is not good. We must… _I_ must find out what has happened, and soon. The fastest route to rendezvous one, the founder statue in Gotham Park, is over the Bowery and into the Old City. It should take no more than six minutes at optimum speed. We move quickly, although I am certain my companion has no idea what the hurry is about. We touch down at the statue five minutes and eighteen seconds later. Someone is waiting. It is a Robin, but it is not Damian.

Stood in front of the statue, covered in welts and bruises, is Jason Todd. He is sporting the same Robin uniform as Dick, except in a far more ragged condition. Judging from his height and build…he is also somewhere around fifteen years of age. He looks at the pair of us in bewilderment before grinning.

"Is this your spare?" He asks gesturing to Dick. "Wish you'd told me you kept a steady supply of us waiting in the wings. Maybe I wouldn't have busted my ass so hard looking for you then." He is joking, at least for the most part. He advances on my companion with intent.

"What happened to you on the way here?"

"Got attacked by a mob of crazy-eyed freaks near the Narrows. I think they wanted to literally eat me."

"How did you get away?"

"The usual: kicked the living shit out of them all. Took a few shots in return, but nothing too…" He almost loses his balance but rights himself at the last moment, "serious." He finishes before squaring up to Dick. "So, who the fuck's this dweeb? Looks like Golden Boy." Jason remarks appearing to size him up for potential combat despite what he has just been through. There is no easy way of communicating this situation. I shrug.

"It is." I say. Jason's smile fades.

"Bullshit. Golden Boy's a ponytail-sporting, spandex-wearing asshole about…" He lifts his hand three inches above Dick's head, "this tall and with a much stupider expression on his face." Dick turns to me.

"Who is this, Bossman? And why is he wearing my uniform?" Jason shoves him back a few steps with his clear power advantage. He sneers at his predecessor.

"Back-up kid. This is _my_ Bossman and I'm wearing _my_ uniform. You need to get your own on both counts." I interject my arm between them.

"We do not have time for argument or confrontation. You will both follow my orders until this matter is resolved, is that clear?" I say, more to Jason than Dick who seems more than a little startled by his successor's presence. I, on the other hand, am vexed by it all. Jason nods without taking his eyes off the other youth.

"Yeah, I got you, big man. Something's really been fucked up this time, huh?"

"You could say that. We need to get to the Teem Institute immediately."

"I wouldn't bother." I turn to find a third Robin has appeared near us. It is still not Damian. Tim Drake has joined this bizarre reunion, sporting the initial variant of his Robin costume, the first without pixie shorts. It places him around the same age bracket as Dick and Jason. "I've just come from Downtown. There's nothing but a really big hole in the ground. Looks like ground zero for whatever's happening." Tim eyes his two predecessors with palpable tension. They are both far larger and heavier than he is, despite their closeness in age. Jason at fifteen could probably outlast them both in extended combat. But this is not going to come to blows. "Let me guess: space-time continuum collapse?" Tim speculates. While just as physically accomplished as his predecessors, Tim's greatest asset as Robin was always his mind. It still is. I nod.

"Time has fractured. I am not the Batman from any of your time periods. I am from what you would perceive as your future. It is imperative we find a way to repair the damage as soon as possible. I need you all to trust me. Despite your differences, you all earned the mantle of Robin. No-one here is undeserving of wearing the uniform or the title. Understand?" I say as the three of them close ranks on me. The sight of them all together at the same volatile stage of development is somewhat daunting. They are not staring at each other. They are all staring at me.

"You're from the future?" Dick says in incredulity. "How old am I where you're from?"

"Twenty-eight."

"So…thirteen years in my future…" Dick says before seeming to hand off the conversation to Jason.

"Uhm…that's…about eight years my future…" His successor adds whilst glancing in Tim's direction.

"Four-and-a-half years my future." The third Robin finishes before smirking. "He doesn't look any older, does he?"

"No. And I mean…what are you, like forty-something?" Dick chimes in with the same smirk of what I can only imagine is disbelief. I frown.

"That is irrelevant…"

"He's forty-one." Tim says seeming to have made the necessary calculations on the subject. He is correct.

"Shit. Maybe crime-fighting really does keep him young." Jason muses. Dick shakes his head.

"Nah, he's a vampire, that's what it is."

"Maybe he's had Botox…" Tim suggests as a more grounded, but no less insulting explanation for my appearance. I have always been baffled by their abilities to make light of even the most dangerous situations. It is unnerving to see them all do so at once. I clear my throat.

"That's enough speculation. Let's return to location Alpha and regroup." Location Alpha is the cave. They all know that and all look concerned. I suppose there is the question of how to get there without the car. Even if we had it, the design only accommodates two. I consider. "We'll borrow another vehicle." We wait another twenty minutes at the statue. They are restless and wish to leave, especially Jason who looks in need of medical treatment, but are rendered silent when I state my son is still missing. None of them knows of his existence in their respected timelines. I imagine it is shocking, but unimportant. Damian does not appear. My heart drops. I hope he has fallen back to the cave. I tell myself he must have done in abandoning the rendezvous to commandeer transport. He knows the procedures. He will be waiting. Thunder grows louder and lightning more frequently streaks the skies above as we hotwire a nearby car and begin the journey back to what I hope is still the cave. With time in flux as it is, there is no telling what awaits us.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Second chapter. Bruce and his Robins reach the cave and find things a little run down. Fortunately, someone both familiar and unknown at the same, is on hand to explain the situation thus far. There are many questions still answer and difficulties to overcome. But all Bruce needs is a foothold and he's off to the races.**

 **Please read and review.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 2**

I had expected a difficult night. I was not unprepared for things going awry. This however is a scenario I did not predict or draw projections on. Instead of being with Damian apprehending the Clock King, I am driving a Dodge Aries with all three of his predecessors. They are all around fifteen years of age and all in the middle of their careers as Robin. I keep my eyes on the road, despite knowing all three of them, having elected to sit on the front bench seat regardless of impracticality and space, are staring at me. They want answers. I do too. At present, we are six miles from the cave entrance. Dick inadvertently nudges me with his elbow.

"Sorry. Kind of cramped in here, you know?" The boy apologises. I believe that is a shot at Jason, who despite being the same age as his companion's is dominating the middle of the seat, squashing Tim against the window and forcing Dick too close for comfort. Jason responds by muscling his shoulders out from beneath the other two boys, causing a furore of complaints. I brake abruptly to silence all three of them.

"One of you get in the back. Now." I say bluntly. There is far too much adolescent testosterone in this car. I realise now how wonderful only dealing with one teenage sidekick is, regardless of how heated arguments got. Tim willingly gets out the passenger door, freeing much needed space, and climbs into the back. I incline my head. "Thank you, Tim."

"Anything to move this along quicker." He replies. Jason scoffs.

"Tim? _Timothy_? That's your real name? And I thought you looked wet before." Tim does not look overly impressed as we resume course. I am hoping he will be sensible enough to hold his tongue.

"What's your name?" Dick asks Jason to change the thread of conversation altogether. His immediate successor looks reluctant to part with this information. He likes having leverage at any age.

"His name's Jason. Jason Peter Todd." Tim answers when Jason has still not responded after almost fifteen seconds. I hear Jason turn in his seat.

"There better not be a crack about my name coming, _Timothy_. I'm not in the mood to joke." That is a blatant threat, something I recall him making far more frequently than I would have liked. Fortunately, Tim proves he is far along enough in his timeline to have learned diplomacy.

"It's not. I've always liked your name. I think it's pretty strong, better than mine anyway." Tim replies to render his predecessor oddly quiet in the aftermath.

"I think I like it too." Dick says to once again rescue the dialogue, "My middle name's one of the apostles as well." I hear Jason turn back in his seat and audibly smirk. Dick's middle name is John, after his father, just as Jason's is. The middle Robin knows this. I believe Dick is attempting to be humorous, a dangerous game with Jason, especially when in a bad mood.

"You really do make bad jokes, don't you, Golden Boy?"

"Do I get any better with age?" Dick asks as an open question to both his successors.

"No. You get a lot worse." Tim replies with what I imagine will be a smile. He has a good relationship with Dick. He always has done. Jason laughs.

"Yeah. Even the most desperate comedy clubs wouldn't want you performing, Ponytail." Jason adds before shifting in his seat again, "Have you heard his one about a group of disorganised cats?" We have all heard that joke before. I have unfortunately heard it dozens of times throughout my life. Perhaps the most annoying aspect of it is not the joke itself, but the teller. Dick laughs at his own jokes. Every. Single. Time. I have wanted to smack him sometimes.

"Oh God, it's so awful. Tell it to us, Dick." Tim says. While I am glad they are learning of common ground between them, I do not want to hear that joke again, not trapped in a moving car with three fifteen-year-old boys. I already feel like a soccer mom without adding insult. Dick clears his throat. He is never shy. It is a curse.

"What do you call a group of disorganised cats?" He pauses for a few moments. I sigh, resigned to the fact they are all going to say the punchline in unison. I join them.

"A _cat-astrophe_."

Dick laughs…right next to my ear. Jason and Tim begin to tell each other their predecessor's list of favourites. After only two or three examples of this, they start laughing too. The atmosphere is close to unbearable. I clench my jaw. Three miles to the cave. It cannot come soon enough.

We arrive in the vehicle park and get out. The cave is in a dilapidated condition. The vehicle park is partially flooded, causing the majority of cars to be inoperable if not rusted. It appears part of the concrete foundations have ruptured, causing a natural water source to rise up from beneath. At present, the waterline is just below the mid-point of my shin. I frown at this. I certainly did not leave the cave in this condition, and do not recall ever witnessing such a phenomenon plague it in the past. We climb the stairs to the command centre. The computer terminal is inactive, but looks functional. A half-filled coffee cup sits on the console. A quick taste proves it to still be lukewarm. Someone is still here, using these facilities. We move to the medical bay.

"Sit." I instruct Jason whilst searching the nearby cabinets for supplies. He complies amicably enough. The cabinets are fully-stocked. I check the expiry dates on various medicine boxes. They all expire roughly eight years from the last date I remember. Since two brands of pharmaceuticals only have a shelf life of four years, I can assume a minimum of four years has elapsed in the interim, placing the year in this cave as 2021. I retrieve the necessary bandages and sundries for treatment. As Jason removes his tunic, I tell the other two to examine the cave for further clues of habitation. Dick goes to the training area whilst Tim descends back down to the vehicle park.

"What can you tell me about the mob that attacked you? Can you describe them physically?" I ask Jason, swapping my gloves and gauntlets for their surgical equivalent. The boy has severe bruising to his ribs and chest. He has been hit more than a few times. Jason shrugs.

"It was weird, Bruce. I know it sounds nuts, but these people had yellow eyes and grey skin. They looked more like stiffs with lights behind their eyes than human beings." He tells me before sucking his teeth as I prod his torso for breaks. None are forthcoming. "And they were like animals. They moved really fast and hit really hard. One of them nearly snapped my fucking neck by flicking a fist at me. It felt like whiplash in a car accident." He adds rubbing the back of his neck. I indicate for him to remove his mask so I can check for concussions or possible blunt force trauma. He does so, revealing one bloodshot eye, but nothing to suggest a serious head injury. I pull back my cowl to ensure I am not mistaken in my analysis.

"What's the last thing you remember being involved in, prior to the attack?" I ask shining a light in his eyes. His pupils contract normally.

"We were fighting Cluemaster. We'd just about got him down for the count when…I don't know…I got knocked out. When I came to, I was already surrounded by them. I thought I was dreaming…until one of the fuckers hit me. Then I went into survival mode." I check my memory palace for details. Arthur Brown, A.K.A. the Cluemaster was involved in a hostage situation shortly after Jason's fifteenth birthday. As I recall, we saved all but two of the eighteen hostages. The two we lost were not at Brown's hands, but rather their own physical problems: one suffered a massive cardiac arrest and the other died after a violent epileptic fit. I nod in understanding whilst graduating to bandaging his ribs.

"I see. After the mob, did you encounter any other people on route to the park?"

"A few corpses lying in the street. They were weird too." He says as I ensure my binding does not restrict his breathing too much.

"How so?"

"They'd been skeletonised, like they'd been there for decades." Skeletonization is the final stage of death, after all soft tissue and cartilage has been eliminated from the corpse by natural processes. Jason is right. In certain conditions, Skeletonization can take years. For such corpses to be left on a city street is unthinkable. "You really do look good for your age, big guy." Jason says after I have been mired in thought for several seconds. "Hey, so I'm like…twenty-three back in your time, right? How do I look?" He has no idea what is to come. His death, resurrection and murderous rampage through Gotham's underworld. They are all to come. We have reconciled our differences in recent years, but there is still a strain between us. At fifteen, our relationship was untainted. He did not resent me yet. It is sobering to see how far we fell. I smile.

"You are bigger. Still handsome though."

"We still good with each other?" He checks. I nod.

"We have disagreements, but nothing we cannot work through." I say. There is no need for him to know his future. It cannot be changed anyway. It has happened. It will happen again. I make a mental note to tell Tim to keep his mouth shut on the matter as well. "I think you are done. Take two of these." I hand him maximum-strength paracetamol and ibuprofen tablets as he gingerly puts his tunic back on. He swallows them without water and replaces his mask.

"How do you think Golden Boy and Timmy-come-lately are getting on?"

"Just Tim is fine." Tim says from close-by. Jason grins.

"You're pretty slick with that sneaky entrance, Timmy. That's twice you've come out of nowhere like a shorter, cuter version of Bruce. It's adorable." He tells his successor with sarcasm that beggars belief. He was even more antagonistic as a teenager than as the Red Hood. I had forgotten that about him. Tim is unfazed.

"Found some interesting stuff down on the lower levels. Cave foundations were deliberately ruptured. There's evidence of explosive charges at certain stress points to make sure it happened. I don't know why. The water's not high enough to be used as a defence and all its done is ruin the lower levels. The suit-up area's un-useable too." I also find someone deliberately sabotaging the cave's structural integrity strange. I can only assume enemies have breached the cave in recent years and attempted to render it inoperable. I cross to the armoury, shadowed by my two…Robins.

The armoury is depleted, but far from exhausted. Most of the incendiaries – smoke, CS gas, phosphorus grenades – have been completely emptied, but batarangs, explosive gels, grapnel lines and other utilities are almost fully stocked. This is not the work of thieves. Someone has committed to a particular strategy, a tried-and-tested tactic of combat. It seems to favour distraction as a primary tool of offense. The methodology is crude, but not ineffective.

"Someone is operating out of here. But it is not me…or any of you."

"Think it's your kid? What's his name?" Jason asks inspecting some of the Kevlar plates sitting next to untouched variants of my bat suit. They are too small to be used in my armour. They would only fit an adolescent. I can see from here that five out of the six visible have bullet holes in them. They look like high-calibre impacts, but the Kevlar has held.

"Damian. Potentially, yes. If it is, he is…older than last I saw him." I say in exiting the room in favour of the computer terminal. I power it on. It has not been well-maintained: I have to input drive locations manually for it to boot up the system. When it does, there are speed and connectivity issues. Someone has altered passcodes to access remote satellites and hack into citywide surveillance and security records. I can access a map of the city, but it offers little in terms of information. New city limits have been manually plotted to bring them slightly inside those previously defined: everything north of Gotham Docks is intact, but any real-estate near either the river or waterways has been discounted. "We shall wait for Dick and head upstairs. Perhaps Alfred is still here. We need information to progress."

"Don't you always, Master Bruce?" I turn to find myself confronted with the sight of the old man, with somewhat less lines on the face and more hair on the scalp, flanked on either side by Dick and another boy of similar age. It only takes a brief glance in the other youth's eyes to realise it is Damian in the midst of adolescence and a growth spurt: he is almost as tall as Alfred. Dick grins at me.

"I found them. Do I win biggest shock of the night?"

"Hardly." Damian scoffs in a deep voice that startles my ears after listening to him in high pitch for so long. "So, you've finally arrived then, Father. We have been waiting for some time." The boy says advancing towards me. I sigh.

"How long, Son?"

"A little over four years. I trust you're aware that…" Damian pauses mid-sentence. I frown at this incongruity: the boy never loses his train of thought. Suddenly he hugs me around the chest, squeezing tightly. The dynamic feels strange with his added years. I imagine it has been difficult for him without me. I reciprocate his actions and briefly ruffle his hair. He pushes away a moment later, clears his throat and continues. "I trust you're aware that time has fractured?" I glance at my army of Robins.

"I did suspect something along those lines. What can you tell me?"

"It was Clock King's device malfunctioning. As far as we can determine, rupturing it when it was upon the engine has torn the city into a time paradox." He says. Dick furrows his brow whilst removing his mask and slouching against the console.

"Just the city is affected?" He asks to pose my next question for me. Everyone is listening for the answer. Damian sighs.

"We don't know. The city exists in a bubble, one no equipment or sensor network can seem to penetrate. Stepping outside the bubble results in erasure."

"Erasure? From existence?" Tim clarifies in something near astonishment at the notion. Damian's response proves unfortunately cryptic again.

"Perhaps. It is hard to tell without seeing beyond the barriers. Inside the bubble, time fluctuates randomly. It skips ahead and travels back in a timeline and chronology entirely of its own making. We've tried mapping and predicting it to better find a solution, but it alters too quickly: the cityscape is barely stable for an hour before shifting again." I decide to inquire about the most obvious side effect of this 'fractured time'. I fold my arms.

"Then how are we all here? How can all of us, each from separate points in time many years apart, exist together at the same instant without ripping the very fabric of existence apart?" Damian smiles at me, a rare gesture in itself without the added adoration behind it.

"You. You are the reason this city stands at all, instead of merely being a smouldering crater. The electrical pulse caused by the device was sufficient to destroy the whole city. If it had been unimpeded at its origin point, it most likely would have done so. But it passed through you, Father. You are a temporal anomaly. You have existed at multiple points outside your own chronology and travelled back from the end of the universe. When the pulse hit you, your body acted like a prism, scattering the effect instead of allowing it to focus. That in turn fractured time instead of obliterating it. We can all exist in the same space simultaneously because time is no longer a straight line with strict cause and effect. It is a series of moments stitched together from the remnants of your timeline." There are multiple elements of his explanation I cannot understand, but then I am not a long-time student of this phenomenon. It would appear Damian's field of scientific expertise has become very niche in recent years. Whether born out of necessity or not, I still find his knowledge impressive.

"I see you have become an expert in temporal mechanics in my absence, Son. Congratulations."

"I have had many years to study the subject, Father."

"So, what's the plan, Little Lord Fauntleroy? You do have one, right? There is a way to fix this, right?" Jason asks, apparently deciding he has been a listener for long enough without opening his mouth. Still, it is exactly what needs to be asked at this juncture. Damian shoots him a withering glare. Jason stares him down. There is a brief moment when I think one of them will swing for the other. It does not come. Damian graciously diffuses the tension by gifting us the first encouraging words of the evening.

"I have one theory. I cannot be sure it will work, but it is all I can think of to repair the damage."

"What is it?"

"A 'reset button', Master Bruce. We recreate the initial pulse but cause it to _implode_ through you. We believe if your body scattered time outwards, passing the pulse back through you will force it back into a singular time frame." Alfred says to lift some of the burden of further explanation. I feel I must point out the inherent flaws in what is a dangerous and logistical nightmare of a plan. I begin immediately.

"That would require two items we do not know how to build: Clock King's time device and the Omega engine. Whilst I know as a fact that it took engineers and scientists almost thirty years to design and then construct the Omega engine, I doubt Clock King fashioned his device in an afternoon. And according to Tim, the Teem Institute, where such research and data for the engine's schematics would be housed…"

"You saw it as a crater. It does exist in other time frames. We need to arrive during a window when it is present." Damian says as if the solution is academic. Time has done nothing to dull his confidence. But there are other factors to consider.

"Even with the necessary data, building it could take years. And that still does not solve the problem of Clock King's device. We do not even know his true identity. Do you know if he survived the initial pulse?" The boy folds his arms to mirror everyone else at this point except the old man. Everyone is a little defensive. Too much testosterone again.

"He was at the epicentre of the pulse. It is highly doubtful he survived. However, we have learned his true identity and deduced the time periods in which he is likely to be working on constructing his device. We simply have to get there in time to take advantage. As for the Omega engine, Alfred and I have been working on that for almost three years. If projections are correct, we need only another six weeks to complete it for use." Damian says. While I am dubious such an engine can be recreated in a fraction of the original time taken by a dedicated team, I will suspend my disbelief in favour of not discouraging his efforts.

"And your progress on the time device?"

"It will require stakeouts of several sites around the city. The correct time period will present itself. All we have to do is wait. With all of us, it should be far easier to manage the sudden shifts."

"Can we not recruit any more operatives to assist us? Jim Gordon or Barbara? They could prove invaluable in such a precarious situation."

"We have tried, Sir. They do not cross over into our time. Many potential candidates also cannot exist outside their time period. Perhaps that will change with your arrival. For now, it is late and I would imagine all of you can use some rest. It has been a long night." Alfred says as what I hope is the voice of reason and not false security. I would like to sleep in order to digest the composition of this strange netherworld and its convoluted rules. That seems entirely counterproductive though, especially considering the stakes. This situation needs fixing. Now. Not later: right this instant. I cannot accomplish that in a bed. I move into the command centre's seat.

"Take the boys upstairs and get them settled, old friend. Damian, give me the passcodes for the satellite and surveillance systems and then retire for the night yourself. How is your supply of coffee, Alfred?"

"I doubt there will be enough to satisfy you, Master Bruce." He says with a thin smile that says he does not approve of my decision to remain awake until an answer is more forthcoming. It is immaterial at this point. I turn towards the computer screen and recall all open-source databases on the drives.

"Bring me a pot and then please feel free to turn in yourself. I must get to work. The passcodes, please, Damian."

"No, Father." I slowly turn my head towards him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'no', Father. If we need sleep, then so do you. Especially you."

"You are all children. Sleep for you is essential for mental and physical development. I am already matured. I require less rest as a consequence."

"Bruce, you're forty-one. Face facts: you're old. Old people need a lot of sleep too." Dick says a little cuttingly. I glare at him. I sense a mutiny brewing.

"Bloody hell: forty-one?" The old man suddenly remarks with the same incredulity the others did in the park. "You still look twenty-five, Sir." I now realise I never asked what time period Alfred has emerged from. His comments seem to hint at a life before all this madness erupted into being.

"Am I to infer that…you are from sixteen years in my past, Alfred?" I check. Even I sound incredulous now. The sentiment is like some sort of plague. The old man tuts in disapproval of my tone.

"You make me sound obsolete as well as old, Master Bruce. Yes, I am, but Master Damian has brought me up to speed on all your…activities in the last decade-and-a-half. Four boys. When I last saw you, you did not even have one, just a cowl and a very absurd dream."

"Wow, time flies, huh?" Jason quips whilst apparently feeling in safe enough company to dispense with his mask as well. He looks at me. "Hate to be all turncoat on you, big guy, but I'm with Golden Boy and that creepy Bruce puppet you call a son. Either we all hit the hay or none of us sleep a wink." I turn my attentions to Tim who has also taken off his mask. I can already see whose side he favours in this increasingly lop-sided battle. He has always been smart.

"It's a shutout, Bruce: five to zero." He informs me without humour. There is a definite trace of sympathy, however, which I appreciate. I begrudgingly rise to my feet.

"I will sleep for a few hours. Then I will work until a solution is mapped. Is everybody happy with that?" A murmur of approval follows from the crowd I have somehow accrued around me. I will glad when this is over. I have never been one for democracy where my decisions are concerned. We retire upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: This may or may not fly. I think it's funny. If it isn't, please tell me. I may change it. For the minute, this chapter is from Tim's POV on recent events. He goes to see Jason, who in his timeline is still very dead. They bond in a fashion before engaging in a game Jason calls a 'naked scar party'. Things go dark. Then, when Damian and Dick turn up, things lighten up again. When Bruce arrives…the fun is almost over.**

 **Please read and review (Might have some spelling or punctuation mistakes to feedback to me).**

 **Enjoy? (Tell me about it)**

 **Shattered 3**

 **Tim**

It's a weird feeling, waking up in a place you know, but finding everything in it has moved on without you. This is supposed to be my room, the room I always sleep in if patrol runs late and I can't be bothered to get home. Except here, now, wherever in time we are, it's not my room. None of my things are in here. No books. No clothes. Nothing. So, I slept and woke up in my Robin costume, which is not in great shape at the minute. To be perfectly honest, neither am I. I know what I'm experiencing technically isn't time-travel, just a really weird bending of it, but seeing Jason at my age is pretty scary. It's bad enough to still be fighting with his legacy without the guy being brought back from the dead.

I endured hell to become Robin. Bruce's training bordered on…it didn't border at all, it _was_ insanity. And that was because of Jason. _Your predecessor was better than you, Tim, and he still died. You have to be better than him. It is the only way to stay alive._ Bruce said something like that every day to me in training. I know he was trying to push me to my limits and beyond, but it did seem like an exaggeration as time dragged on. Jason could do fifteen pull-ups with a _forty-five-pound_ plate between his legs? Jason could carry Bruce over two-hundred meters in less than _two_ minutes? Jason could punch through _three_ boards with one short strike? Half of the things he expected me to do at the start, all of which I eventually managed, seemed impossible. And Jason was thirteen going on fourteen when he did his own hellish training. I started to think he was just outright lying about Jason's abilities. Actually looking at him in the flesh though is a different story.

When this crazy phenomenon hit, I was fighting Scarecrow with Bruce in the closed wing of Gotham Museum. Needless to say, fear gas played a large part in proceedings. I was already seeing visions of Jason and Dick telling me I was a failure before getting knocked unconscious. When I came to, near the ruins of the Teem Institute in Downtown Gotham, I took to the rooftops for a better handle on the situation. That's when I saw him. Not a hallucination. Not a nightmare. Not a ghost. It was actually Jason. The real thing. I knew it was him the moment he got mobbed by thirty grey-skinned zombie people and didn't look for the exit about thirty minutes later in the Narrows. I watched him stand his ground, like a lunatic. I was ready to jump in if things got too dicey for him to handle solo. But I guess part of me just wanted to see him fall too. It sounds bad, but after what I went through for my mantle, I wanted some proof Jason wasn't the machine Bruce painted him as in training. I wanted to know he was human. Just a boy, like me.

But Jason didn't fall down. He was brought down to one knee, but never off his feet. And he got hit a lot. These things were physically ripping at his costume at one point, trying to shred him to pieces along with it. He punched his way out. Thirty bodies. All of them fell. I thought his stamina would give out or his punches would get just weak enough to be swamped. But they didn't. Seven minutes of lung-bursting, terrifying close-quarter combat with literal monsters and the guy still looked like he had something left at the end. And that's when I realised what Bruce meant when he said Jason had some qualities that could not be copied. The guy was made of concrete and had the instincts of a velociraptor in combat. Kill or be killed. Never surrender. Never give ground. Never accept death. I could see all those mantras just from his body language. It was impressive and horrifying at the same time.

He started biting some of them after three minutes. He tore ears off when they got too close. Things audibly went 'snap' and 'crack' a lot. And when he headbutted them, some of their skulls visibly dented in the aftermath. I thought about introducing myself when it was all over, but wasn't sure if he was still in berserker/survival mode. If he was, chances are my head would have been detached and kicked like a freaking soccer ball. So, I hung back until the radio call and then shadowed him to the statue. I couldn't believe he still had the energy to shove Dick and square up to him. Those big shoes I had to fill, stepping into a dead kid's costume, they seemed a whole lot bigger after seeing him live.

Now it's eight hours later and I'm looking for him again. I guess I'm curious. I started thinking of him as some mythical figure towards the end of training, some ultimate goal you could never reach. But he's not some idol or mystic totem. What he is, is a fallen soldier. Bruce's memorial calls him a 'good soldier'. I think Bruce was a bit conservative on the epitaph, like he is giving any praise whatsoever. Jason's not a good soldier. Jason is _the_ soldier, the archetype of a warrior. But that's my conclusion after seeing him in action once. I know from all Bruce's lessons that a good scientist never stops with one sample when more are required. You can't form a hypothesis on a subject without more facts to support you. It doesn't hold water. So, I'm going in search of more facts.

I know his room. I walk past it and get chills. Alfred told me because Bruce wouldn't. When Jason's body was brought back from Africa, they didn't take it to the coroner immediately. Bruce apparently couldn't hand him over at first. So, they brought him home and put him in bed. And he 'slept' there for a whole day. Bruce sat with him for most of it, holding Jason's hand. No tears, Alfred said, just intense staring. It's a scene that creeps me out. I slowly open the door, but can't help thinking of that horrible moment. I've imagined it enough times. Scientific curiosity keeps me pushing forward.

It's dark, but I see him in the bed. He's very still. I move closer, but it takes a while to get my feet going. I round the side of the bed but keep a good two feet of clearance space between us. I don't want to get attacked by what's essentially a ghost for me. I can't be sure, but I think he's naked, like all the bodies in all the morgues you see on TV. It makes this whole situation even creepier. I don't chicken out. I just think this isn't the best way of conducting research. So, I turn to leave him to it.

Suddenly I'm fighting for air as someone slaps a reverse chokehold on me. I already know it has to be Jason. He thinks I'm a threat. Fortunately for me, I _know_ I'm a threat. His ribs are not in good shape and there's enough wiggle room to let me work. His extra mass just means I need to apply more force to get what I want. I drive my elbow into his floating ribs, knowing he can take one or two shots without getting damaged. He doesn't let go on the first try, but that's okay. The second one gets me to loosen his hold. I slip my head out, turn towards him and deliver a left hook to his more bruised right side. Not full-force, just enough to stun him off a foot or two.

"Be cool, man. It's Tim." I say, raising my hands up in a gesture I hope he sees as passive. He sighs and then walks past me. A moment later, the room's flooded with light. He walks back into view. He is naked. Very naked. His right eye is still bloodshot and his whole body is still showing signs of the battle it helped him win.

"What are you doing in here, Timmy? Are you a fag or something? Did you want see my goods?" He indicates his crotch, "They're right here for your viewing pleasure." He's pissed, but not embarrassed or self-conscious. Must be nice. I shake my head.

"Sorry, man. I made a mistake. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh, I know that, Timmy. But if you're going to perv on me while I sleep, you should at least pay for the privilege. After all, Jason Peter Todd is prime real-estate." He snaps back. I'm already tired of this. Guy's a warrior, but he's also an asshole.

"Look, I said I'm sorry. I said it was a mistake and I meant it. I'm not gay and I'm not interested in anything you've got." I tell him firmly. He narrows his eyes at me before weirdly looking at my uniform.

"You also not interested in a shower, Timmy? I could smell the stale sweat on you from the bed."

"The water's off in my room. I couldn't be bothered to find another one. I just wanted some shuteye." I tell him honestly. He nods in understanding.

"I know the feeling. But you should always go to bed feeling clean, Timmy. You go to bed dirty, you start the day on the wrong foot. Believe me, after a while, starting the day on the wrong foot is all you'll do." I know the story. Jason lived on the streets for eighteen months. He prostituted himself for money and a warm bed. Bruce found him stealing the wheels off the batmobile and took him in. It's a sad story with a bad ending for everyone involved. I can guess he washed in subway bathrooms or didn't wash at all some days. So, I get why he has a thing for taking showers. He clearly appreciates them more. He smiles at me. "My shower's working, Timmy. Why don't you hop in? I'll lay out some clothes for you."

"What clothes? This is the future manor. You're…" He crosses over to the drawers and opens the top one. He pulls out workout sweats.

"Guess I don't grow much bigger. And these things are elasticated anyway. They'll fit you." He kept them. Bruce kept all Jason's clothes. Wow. This is even creepier. I'm in a shrine. I'm in a shrine with the boy it's for. Still, it'll be nice to get something clean on. I nod in appreciation.

"Thanks, man." I say reaching for the sweats he's holding out. He jerks his arm back to make me snatch air.

"No, these are mine, Timmy. You'll get yours after the shower." He says with a smug grin. Obviously, he wants to see me naked too, probably his idea of evening the playing field or something. If he wasn't limp now, I'd be worried.

"Seriously? And you're calling me a fag?" I say only for him to laugh sarcastically. It's like a high-school locker room after gym.

"You don't do this, I'm going to bust your balls for the rest of our time together. Judging from how long Bruce's mini-me has been here, that could be a long old while."

"Don't you think we're a little too old for this kind of behaviour?" I ask. He scoffs.

"You really couldn't be a more obvious virgin, could you, Timmy?" I feel my cheeks flush slightly. I shouldn't be ashamed, but I am. Jason sees this and his smile fades a little. He claps me on the shoulder. "Sorry. When I'm on, I'm on, you know? It's cool you're not eager to get your dick wet at the first chance of asking. It's good that you're sensible. I bet you and the big guy are a good fit, both thinkers, right?" So, he can be softer when he chooses. Dick said he could be, but I never really bought it. I nod.

"Yeah. Too deep sometimes, you know? Overthink the obvious?" He shrugs.

"At least you know when to stop running your mouth. Here," He holds out the sweats again, "Take 'em." I push them back to him.

"I got nothing to hide, man. Turnabout is fair-play, right?" He smirks at me and nods in agreement.

"Looks like you are a Robin after all."

I make the most of my shower. Twenty minutes go by. When I get out, I towel myself dry and then wander back out into the room. Jason's sat on the bed, still naked. I hold my arms out to the sides.

"There you go. Do you want a turn too?"

"I wouldn't say no, Timmy." I turn through three-sixty and stop. He nods before appraising my body. He frowns. "Not many scars on you for a Robin. But that one there," He points to the scar snaking over my left femoral artery, "that's a beauty. What's the story for that?" I shrug in crossing the room and sitting next to him.

"When I was seven, I fell through a greenhouse roof. It…wasn't pretty." I say before running a thumb over it, "Think it'll put girls off?"

"Only if they're giving you a blowjob. It's healed pretty well." Before I know what's happening, his finger is tracing a line over it. I slap it away.

"Dude, that's not cool. You can look, right? I think that's good enough." He holds his hands up.

"You're a sport, Timmy, I can say that for you. Do we never have scar parties in the future?" I frown at what sounds like a really bad idea for a celebration. I'm seeing either loads of naked people showing each other scars with a buffet or loads of naked people giving each other scars by slicing into perfectly nice skin with knives. And, for once, the naked part of the scenario doesn't sound like the worst aspect.

"I think I'm going to regret this, but, what's a scar party, Jason?"

"Basically, me and Dick take turns showing each other different scars. We have to guess what made them, how old they are and whether they're superhero-related or not. There's a bonus point for getting _who_ made them too. You know, if you got cut by Zsas or shot by Two-Face…max points you get on a round is four. Five rounds is usually enough, but sometimes we play to ten. If scores are even at the end, we go sudden death. That's a scar party."

"You can't play that too many times without the other person knowing all your scars."

"Depends how many scars you've got, doesn't it? I've got more than enough to play a few times over. Dick does too. I just thought…with you being my successor and all, we might have played once or twice. I guess we're not close, huh?" I don't know if he's probing for information on his future or not. It might just be innocent. Either way I can't tell him anything. He shouldn't know he dies before he turns eighteen. No-one should have to know that. I shrug.

"You leave a big shadow. It's hard to get close to you sometimes." I say with more honesty than I thought. Jason nods.

"Sounds like I take after Bruce in the future. That must suck for you, Timmy. Two grim assholes instead of one?" He bumps his fist lightly against my chest, "Respect, man. I'm sorry if I'm hard on you. I probably just do it to keep you humble. It's important to stay humble in this gig. Keeps you alive." I swallow hard at that but manage to look him in the eye and nod back.

"I know that better than you think, Jason, trust me."

"Know what? Don't call me Jason. Just, call me Jay. I'll even things up and go three letters too. Just Tim now. Cool?" Headway. I like this. I must've done something right to get on this side of him. I smile and nod.

"Cool."

"So…naked scar party?"

We play the guessing game. It's actually pretty fun. Jason's good at it too. He guesses what they're all from and whether they're related to Robin stuff or not every time. He gets a few age-related guesses wrong and just shoots in the dark about who made them, but his scores are solid after four rounds. Mine suck. His scars are weird shapes, odd sizes and all his welts and bruises don't help me corner it down. The only one I've got three points on is the one on his back. It was made by a car aerial whip, about three years ago when he wasn't a superhero. Legacy of a bad life.

"Okay, here's an easy one for you." Jason says showing the underside of his right arm to show some small white circles running in a straight line from his elbow to just before his wrist, "What are these?"

"Cigarette burns."

"Yep. How old?"

"Old. Maybe…hmm…"

"Touch them, might help." He says. I take him up on the offer and run my fingers over the marks. They don't even register as there.

"More than five years old."

"So, five or six?"

"Six years old."

"Two for two. Easy point now. Superhero-related?"

"No."

"Good and…bonus point?"

I don't really want to insult him by voicing my suspicions at who made these on a nine-year-old Jason living in Bludhaven. From what I've read, it's not going to be his mom. At nine, that only leaves one other person, unless it was that person's drunk friends…

"Uh, I really don't think I can say…"

"Sure, you can. You're smart enough. And, you can't offend me, Tim. Let me put it this way, Dick guessed this one right, and I was only mad because he _won_ the game, not because of what he said." He says, trying to assure me. I don't want to say. It's horrible to even think of someone doing that to him, much less telling him what he already knows. I shake my head.

"Jay, this isn't…"

"You need this point, Tim. Like, just to look respectable. Let's go, out with it." He says with a smile that isn't forced or painful. He doesn't care. At least, he acts like he doesn't care. And I may never this chance to be this close to him ever again…without joining him in the ground. I sigh.

"Your dad. Your dad did this to you." I say. He claps his hands together.

"Perfect score for the round, Tim. So, what's my final scar?"

"I've got an easy one for you too." I say, showing him the underside of my right arm. There are four faint scars running horizontally just below my wrist. Jason eyes them in distaste. He knows what they are. For once, he hesitates to answer. He knows _exactly_ what they are. After my mom died and dad went into a coma, things got very dark for me. Alfred stopped me before I got too into it. But I did go deeper than I wanted to. Jason still isn't talking. I smile at him. "You shared something terrible. This is just like yours."

"I…didn't do mine to myself, Tim." He says. I shake my head.

"That's not how it's played. First, what made them?"

"Pen-knife."

"Yep. How old?"

"Less than two years."

"Two for two. Superhero stuff?"

"Not even close."

"And…who made them?"

"…You did." He says after wetting his lips. He looks at me and smiles. "We're calling this game a tie. If the big man hasn't gotten us home by tomorrow, want to play again?" This is a bad game to play, but it's weirdly cathartic. I doubt I'd share like this with anybody else but a Robin who understands how bad things can get. I guess, that would be all of them to one extent or another. I nod my head.

"Sure. I really…"

"What on earth are you two doing?" I turn my head and find that Damian kid staring at us through the open doorway. He slightly moves backwards into the hall. "Are you two having…sexual relations?" He sounds more afraid than disgusted by the idea. Jason looks over at me and smirks.

"Tell him what we're doing, Tim." I consider trying to mess with this kid and tell him we are in the middle of a lover's tryst. But I just tell him the truth.

"Naked scar party." Damian's attitude completely changes. He wanders into the room and regards the pair of us.

"Who is winning?" He asks.

"It's a tie at the minute."

"How many rounds?" He asks. Wow. Scar parties are an actual thing. How is he not embarrassed for us right now? How am _I_ not embarrassed at Bruce's offspring getting an eyeful? Jason holds out a splayed hand.

"Five in. Want to join?"

"Why naked?"

"If you've got nothing to hide, you don't need clothes. Man-test. You are a man, aren't you?" Jason inquires teasingly. Damian narrows his eyes, but is still receptive to the idea. I'm guessing he doesn't like being insulted for anything.

"Neither of you have any memories of me, do you?" He checks carefully whilst reaching for the top button of his shirt. He wants to, but not yet. I get it. He's looking for the advantage, like a real strategist. He wants to make sure neither of us know anything about his scars already. He probably knows about ours…or mine at the very least. Jason sighs.

"Playing or not, Mini Bruce?" That irks him a little. This is way more research than I expected in one morning. Damian unfastens the top two buttons.

"Nothing off limits?" He asks. Jason shakes his head.

"Nada."

Damian strips inside of twenty seconds. I guess modesty is for normal people. He has a lot of scars too. One on his chest looks like a bullet wound. We have some nasty lives as Bruce's sidekick. Seeing us all together proves it. We shift into a rough circle on the bed.

"Why were you coming to see Jason?" I ask Damian as he appraises his own body in preparation for the upcoming round. He shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter at the moment. Five rounds or ten, Jason?"

"We can play to ten if you want." Jason says with a self-satisfied smile. He's got both his successors to play weird naked games with him. I'd be pretty smug too. It's impressive manipulation. Bruce must've had his hands full with Jason.

"Oh, my god." We all turn to the door and find Dick staring at us. He looks amazed by the scene. He doesn't even hesitate to walk in. He smiles at us. "That's genius! A _naked_ scar party! You've got to let me play! I mean, I _invented_ this game. Jason, back me up."

"You did, Golden boy. No arguments here. You can have all the credit for this one." Dick pulls off his pyjamas and sits opposite me in the circle. This is beyond surreal now. Four fifteen-year-old guys sitting in a circle, completely naked, about to have a scar-guessing competition. Even without the time-travel thing, this is uncharted territory for me. I kind of hope it is for everyone else too. If they do this on a regular basis…I honestly don't know what to think anymore. Maybe I got into the wrong racket. The game starts.

After five rounds of a, no pun intended, round- _robin_ format, all scores are fairly close. We play in pairs and take turns. After each person in the pair has a turn, we swap partners to keep things fresh. It only takes us a few rounds to start really looking for difficult scars to identify. It turns out everybody's good at this game. Most of us have really similar scars by really similar circumstances, so guessing what made them and how old they are is the easy part. Everyone's trying for bonus points and thinking really hard before they answer. I've been sat on one of Dick's scars for almost three minutes.

I know it's a bullet graze, small calibre. Roughly eighteen months old. Definitely superhero-related. Problem is all bad guys use bullets. All bad guys fire at us. It could be anyone. I can't remember Dick ever telling me anything stand-out from when he was thirteen. I shrug. "Mad Hatter?" Dick finally rolls off his side and back to a sitting position. He nods.

"Good guess! Tim gets four."

"How did he clip you that high up?" I ask. The bullet graze was literally sitting just underneath his left ass cheek. A millimetre further up and it would've been on it instead. He shrugs.

"Guy's a really bad shot. I don't think he was aiming for me at all." We now have a scoresheet to amend, courtesy of Damian. He takes this all very seriously. I watch begrudgingly write four next to the round-six column. He clears his throat.

"Through six rounds, the scores are as follows: Dick, you have nineteen. Jason, you have twenty-one. Drake, you have now miraculously moved to twenty. And I have…twenty-two." He looks up from the scoresheet. "And here I thought my future knowledge would prove insurmountable in such a contest. I see now why Father regards you all so highly, despite your respective flaws." Jason smirks.

"I wouldn't be talking about 'flaws' when you're butt-naked with your peers, _little_ man." He says looking directly at Damian's crotch. I really don't have an opinion. I'm waiting for fireworks between them. Damian's jaw clenches for a moment before relaxing. He smiles.

"A poor choice of words on my part. And, if it is to be considered small, at least I do not shave to draw attention to the fact like Dick." We all stare at Dick's crotch. It looks like a freshly cut lawn instead of a slightly ragged shrub. He shrugs.

"Bruce does it. Ladies appreciate the thought. He would know." Damian frowns.

"Father shaves his…?" He indicates his own hair. Dick nods.

"And Jason at least clips his down from time to time." He adds gesturing to Jason's crotch.

"Yeah, because I actually _get_ ladies from time to time, instead of just hope. Nice of you to notice the effort though. I always knew you had a thing for me, Golden boy." Jason says with a shake of the head, "But I'll pass." He grabs his workout sweats and gets off the bed. "Game's over. Anyone got a problem with just giving Damian the W? He looks like he needs it." He checks shoving on his jogging pants. Dick shrugs.

"He'd have won anyway. I've probably shown him my best scars a dozen times by now where he's from." He shakes Damian's hand and joins Jason in getting clothes back on. I look at Damian and concede too. I offer my hand.

"I know you and I must have a bad relationship where you're from, but will you at least let me congratulate you on winning?" I say. He calls me Drake, like a military recruiter. He doesn't do that with the others. I know animosity when I feel it. He doesn't like me. This little act of good sportsmanship earns me a smile though.

"I find I like you better here than elsewhere, Drake. You are…far smarter." He shakes my hand.

"Hmm. Interesting." We turn to the doorway to find Bruce standing there with folded arms. "I send you to fetch the others and instead you decide it is better to conduct a… _naked_ scar party?" Damian shields his crotch. I would if Bruce hadn't walked in on me naked before. The big man doesn't look angry or even sound disappointed. He just sounds and looks generally bemused by it all.

"We…lost track of time, Father."

"I see. Whilst I am glad to see you all…'bonding', the time has come to begin working on the solution to our predicament. There are several tasks to be carried out in the next few hours that may prove pivotal. Kindly get dressed and meet me in the cave shortly."

"Yes, Father."

He regards us all again and shakes his head. "Strange children." He mutters turning around to leave, "I forgot how strange my children were. I must remember this. They like naked scar parties…"

"Give us one of yours, big guy!" Dick calls to him before he's out of earshot. Both Damian and I get off the bed and put on some pants. Bruce turns back. He looks at us all with a slight frown. He's thinking about it.

"Just one?" He checks as I finish putting on Jason's spare sweats and Damian re-buttons his shirt. Dick nods. He seems less bewildered now everybody is covered up again.

"One we all know. Just describe it. See if we know which you're talking about." Dick replies whilst we stand in front of him in a semi-circle. He towers over all of us. We watch him consider carefully.

"The scar shaped like a shark on my hip. What made it? Dick?"

"Molten marshmallow." He answers. Bruce nods. He glances at Jason.

"How old is it?"

"Must be…like thirty years old now?" The big man nods again.

"Close enough. Superhero-related, Damian?" Damian scoffs.

"I would say not, Father."

"And who gave it to me, Tim?"

"Tommy Elliott. He accidentally dropped it on you when you went camping in the woods." I say with a smile. It's one of his oldest scars and actually predates the death of his parents. It's also one of the few that was caused by a genuine accident. Rare as hell. He nods in satisfaction.

"Congratulations. Now that's been settled, and you are all decent, let me show you some actual deduction. Follow."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Reviews have been very constructive in the past week for what I should do moving forward with this narrative. In this chapter, Bruce outlines the plan of attack for fixing what is broken. Told from Dick's POV with his thoughts on the big man's choices in partners following his departure. The original dynamic duo then has a heart-to-heart chat about the future of their relationship and where things stand. Plus, Dick and Damian have a talk too.**

 **Please continue to read and review.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 4**

I'm not stupid. I may act like a clown sometimes, but I'm not stupid. Blame the circus in me. I knew Bruce wouldn't let me run around in my skivvies and a cape for the rest of my life. Hell, I was probably the one who made the break in the first place. But, as I lean over the top of the big guy's chair in the cave, I didn't expect to be the founding member of a Robin dynasty. Three kids after me? _Three_ of them? And I mean, one is Bruce's actual _biological_ son, something he made. It makes me wonder where I sit in the all-time Robin standings, since the competition is surprisingly strong.

You got my immediate replacement, some foul-mouthed kid that has the endurance of a freaking terminator and the attitude of a gangbanger, then you've got _his_ replacement – my replacement's replacement for crying out loud – a quiet kid with Bruce's intellect and nowhere near his coldness, dangerous stuff, and then, and _then_ you've got Robin 4.0 in Damian. Damian Wayne. Damian _Wayne_. Da-mi-an Wa-y-nee…nope, sounds weird, no matter how many times I say it. Whatever hang-ups I've got on his name, that kid is the real deal. Broody as Bruce? Check. Smart as Bruce? Check. Survived in a crazy fractured hellhole for four years without losing his mind, just like Bruce would? Big check.

And on top of the skillsets and attitudes they bring to the job, they all sit about like they own the place too. I don't like it. Sounds kind of childish to say, but I really don't like them all crowding us, me and Bruce. He's mine, not theirs. From the way they look at each other, they think the same way. I didn't know how territorial Robin could be until there was more than one. I zone back in as the big man starts to roll.

"I have successfully devised an algorithm capable of mapping the various time fragments as they appear and disappear." He says. Damian's eyes look like they're about to burst.

"How? I tried everything to engineer such predictive software. I spent four years working on a solution. How can you possibly come along in less than twelve hours and solve it?" The kid practically sulks. I look at Jason. He wants to make some smartass remark, judging by the grin on his face. Bruce's next action stops that from happening. The big man reaches over and puts a hand on Damian's arm and squeezes it softly.

"The work you did for the algorithm was integral. I only solved the problem by accessing the ghost drives. Examples of technology used by Hiro Okamura, the Toymaster, and Jervis Tetch, helped correct faults in the program." Damian seems pacified by that. The kid nods and all the tension drops out of his face in the aftermath.

"I thought the ghost drives were a myth. If the mainframe was damaged, you said it was impossible to restore all the data because it was so extensive." Tim says as if to shove his intelligence in my face. I am getting _way_ too defensive back here. I guess it's just because all of them know more about my future than me. They know my jokes, my scars, my whole track record as Robin. I still don't know how my crimefighting career is going to shake out at this point. They do. They all know what happens to me down the road. It's freaking me out a little.

"I need contingencies. I need backups. If anything goes wrong, I need to have a method to fix it. The ghost drives are real. However, only myself and Alfred have the necessary encryption keys to recall them. Now, with that said, let us continue with what needs to be done." Bruce replies gesturing at the map of Gotham currently on the screen. "The algorithm will only work if fed with constant telemetric data. Atmospherics, air temperature, wind velocity are all essential for the prediction software to work accurately. The satellites we would normally use to monitor such variations are not available to us because of the bubble effect Damian described. Communications equipment does work within the city, but it has to be adjusted to allow both send and receive functionality. To that end, remote transceivers or 'time beacons' need to be set up at stationary points across the city. These points must exist in all observed timeframes if this is to work unimpeded. I have isolated sixteen such locations that will provide full coverage. Our main objective for the day is to establish those transceivers and create the feedback network necessary for predicting time shifts."

That is a lot to swallow in one sitting. I can't even tell if he's speaking English for some of it. But I get the basic idea: stick this there to get what we need here. Simple enough. "So, what? We take three each with one left over?" I ask from behind.

"Whilst you are all capable of performing such a task individually, we are conducting this installation in two-man teams for safety. Dick, you will pair up with Damian. Jason, with Tim."

"And you're going solo, big man?" Jason challenges with an unconvinced stare in his direction. "Kind of hypocritical, isn't it? What about your safety?"

"I will take care of that, Master Jason." Alfie says announcing his sudden presence from behind. Jason scoffs.

"No offence, Al, but these things that tried to fuck me twelve ways from Sunday aren't exactly friendly. If a group of them pin you guys down…"

"We will handle the situation when it arises." Bruce says bluntly. I watch Jason force a smile in reply. The big man inclines his head in gratitude at my replacement. He knows how to play him just right. He knows how to play all of us just right.

"What about defending the castle?" Tim asks. "This is our base of operations. We need to keep it safe. Like Jay says, there are seriously messed up things out in that city…"

"The house will be fine, as will the cave. Damian, kindly explain how this is achieved."

"The creatures you met, Jason, are aberrations in time. People alive in one time frame but dead in several others often get distorted when the city shifts time periods unexpectedly. As a result, they are neither living nor dead and often roam areas of the city that they do not belong in. They have a fear of water for reasons we have yet to explain. Flooding the lower levels of the cave stops them from entering the tunnel. The ground floor of the manor has been heavily fortified against unwanted entry. All windows are boarded shut. All front and rear doors are barricaded. Around the outer perimeter of the manor is a three-tiered fence of razor wire. Nothing has breached this house in over two years. Nothing has breached the cave in more than three. The 'castle' as Dra…as Tim calls it, is secured." I'm fine with that. From the looks of the others, they're happy with that assurance too. Damian knows what he's talking about, that much is pretty clear.

"So, when's H-hour then, Bossman?" I ask to move things along. Bruce sighs.

"I am proficient, Dick, but not that proficient. We require sixteen 'time beacons' to create the field necessary for the algorithm. Thus far, I have constructed one working prototype. It has taken three hours to manufacture one. Even with everyone helping, and a reduced construction time, it will take approximately forty-eight hours to have enough beacons for the network's operation."

"So, why did you say we need to get it online today if it's not possible?" I ask.

"I did not say 'today'. I said, 'for the day'." He corrects me. Yeah, not seeing it. I shrug.

"What's the difference?"

"Today implies a normal passage of time exists here. It is always night here, never day. Moreover, according to Damian, it is the same day and the same time permanently." Bruce explains. I catch Jason frowning.

"I thought you said time shifted around all the time." The 'Robinator' says. I definitely heard that too.

"Yes, in the city, it does. At the house, it is always ten forty-seven in the evening on the twenty-sixth of June." The big man says to give frowns all around.

"Wait, wait, wait. Twenty-sixth of June, here?" Jason checks. "That's the day…"

"My parents died, and the time." Bruce finishes only for my successor to flap his hand dismissively.

"Uh, yeah, sure, whatever, but I was going to say that was the last date I remember with Cluemaster. Twenty-sixth of June." I feel the Bossman tense through the chair. Something's sliding into place in that brain of his, I can tell just from the back of his head. Something's clicked.

"Yeah, that's the date we were fighting Scarecrow." Tim adds. Bruce looks over his shoulder at me and frowns for confirmation. I shrug.

"It was the middle of summer when we were fighting Mr Freeze. We were going to lay down roses when we finished up."

"And it was…of course…" Bruce is abruptly on his feet, making me jump a little as he walks back from the screen and observes the map in total silence. He puts a hand under his chin and stares hard at the map, looking for something. "It was June twenty-sixth, just past midnight, when Damian and I were engaging the Clock King. The device ruptured and time was fragmented…" He looks at Alfie. "Are you from June twenty-sixth as well, old friend?" The old man nods.

"What does it mean, Master Bruce, all of us originating from the same day in differing years?"

"It means the city is in the same position. All six of us originated from the city before travelling here, yes?" Bruce asks looking to Damian. Mini Bruce nods.

"That's correct, Father."

"And all of us, barring myself and Damian, originate from different time periods in my history. But they are all June twenty-sixth. So, each time period in the city will also be June twenty-sixth. The key to fixing this lies in the commonalities that exist between us. All from June twenty-sixth. All of you boys are the same age, fifteen…" He closes his eyes for a few moments. He shakes his head, opens them. "We need more data. I need to check all information you have gathered on the time periods observed, Son. Perhaps some of the databases on the ghost drive will help improve the prediction algorithm or produce a viable pattern to extrapolate."

"Perhaps we might go 'full-steam ahead' after breakfast, Sir? I have taken the liberty of preparing bacon and eggs for everyone and it is already growing cold. No boy, forty or fifteen, can work on an empty stomach." Alfie cuts in to break Bruce's concentration. The big guy sighs lethargically.

"Yes, very well. Everyone go upstairs, I will join you all shortly."

Alfie herds everyone else upstairs. I hang back until they're gone. All three of them shoot me a confused glance but I just hold up a hand to tell them I'll only be five minutes. I just want a quiet word with Bruce. They let me go easily enough. I guess all Robins are decent guys too, after the original model. The big man hasn't moved from his spot observing the screen. I don't know what he thinks he's going to see in that map, but he's convinced himself it's very important. I clear my throat to get his attention.

"Yes, Dick, what is it?" He says without taking his eyes off the screen. I sit down in his chair and shrug.

"What's the story with those three kids? Do I get injured or…die or something?" I ask. He looks from the screen to me and frowns.

"No. You simply…move on to other things."

"And get replaced?" I say. He narrows his eyes at me. He doesn't like my tone or what I'm suggesting.

"You are not replaced, Dick. You are succeeded to the mantle. It is a natural process." He says moving towards me. I shrug again.

"Three times? What happens to Jason and Tim? They move on to other things too?" Suddenly he's drawn up right next to me. I have to crane my neck up to keep looking him in the eye. He nods.

"Yes. Some of the things…are not to my liking, but they are entitled to change."

"Do you adopt them too?"

"Yes, eventually in Tim's case, but yes. Dick, this does not devalue my relationship with you. It never has and it never will." He assures me. I don't know if I believe him. Back in my…time I guess we'll call it, I've been doubting him a lot. And a lot can happen in thirteen years. I move on.

"And your actual kid? Damian? When does that happen?" He sighs at this one and shoves his hands into trouser pockets.

"Dick, this entire situation is very unusual. Whilst we have not gone back in time, none of us can be certain what divulging future events will do when this situation is remedied. To preserve our own chronology, it is best we say as little as possible about future events. You are very bright. You know this is for the greater good."

"I know. It's just…they all know more about me than I know about them. They know how my partnership with you ends. They know every case I've worked and all my habits. Bruce, they know all my favourite jokes! I know nothing about them, besides what a handful of their scars are from and a batting order for who replaces who. And what's with that Jason kid calling me 'Golden Boy' and 'Ponytail'? And, more to the point, where the hell did you find him? Tim and Damian, I can understand, but Jason is a thug and wannabe street tough. That's who succeeded me? _That_ kid?" He really doesn't like my tone now: his face is getting darker the more I harp on about Jason. Something tells me he's had a conversation with me like this before, about Jason. He exhales deeply before speaking, a classic Bruce move to steady his voice. He doesn't want to get angry with me. He just wants to get his point across.

"As I told all of you in the park, each one of you has earned the right to be called Robin and my partner. Jason is from a different background, but he has the same qualities that make you both assets on the streets. He is smart, he is strong and he is resourceful. And, just to give you something of a picture, when I met him, he was a skinny homeless boy living in the ruins of Amusement Mile who had been repeatedly sexually abused and lost one parent to cancer and the other to crime. Perhaps now you can imagine what hell he put himself through to wear the same uniform as you convincingly." Okay, I didn't need to know that. And he knows I didn't too. He wants to hammer home how much work the kid put into becoming Robin, to be my successor. Just from looking at him this morning, that's fairly obvious. I just don't understand why him, out of all the kids in Gotham.

"Why'd you take a kid like that?"

"Because just like you, I saw potential in him to be something greater than what he was. And again, just like you, he has maximised his potential."

"And, do I like him? Back where you're from?"

"That is irrelevant. What is important here, is that you can work together. Where he is from, he likes you. 'Golden Boy' and 'Ponytail' are terms of affection. He holds you in high regard because you were first. They all respect you because you came first. You suffered first. They exist because you laid the groundwork. The Robin name means nothing without you. Trust me. Them knowing everything about your career as Robin is nothing but a positive." He says sinking to one knee beside the chair so our faces are level. It is genuinely scary how young he looks for being thirteen years in my future. Not even one wrinkle or grey hair. But doesn't talk like my Bruce. My Bruce still has a few sticking points talking to me as a kid and not a sidekick. This one has no trouble whatsoever. Like that arm thing with Damian earlier or that little nod to Jason, he knows exactly how to deal with kids, especially at our age. It's impressive.

"You adopt me, right? As a son and not a ward?" I check. He smiles and claps me on the side of my neck. His hand feels really comforting right now, like it always is.

"As with almost everything else, you get that privilege first." He tells me. I smile back.

"Sorry, if I'm coming across as a little girly with all this stuff. You know me, I don't like to be upstaged."

"I am well aware."

"I can't imagine how weird this is for you. Seeing all of us like this. Bet you thought this part of your life was over, huh?"

"I still have Damian to raise. And, until everything is resolved, I expect all of you to help me in that regard. The boy needs good role models. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy. Let's go eat."

Breakfast at the table is too quiet. So, I start in on storytelling early, telling anyone who'll listen about facing the Mad Hatter, Killer Moth and couple of other heavy hitters for the first time. None of them stop me and Bruce doesn't even look up from his eggs, even though I'm sure they've all heard the stories before. Knowing me, I've probably forced them all to listen at least half-a-dozen times each, as a warning or an anecdote. For this rendition, I keep it light and funny. My first encounter with Two-Face is off the table, as is the fallout of me running away and joining some crazy-ass cult. They know already, so we don't need to rehash the darkest moment of my crimefighting career. After seeing some of their scars this morning, I know we've all had some dark moments under the mask. So, light and inoffensive it is. I'm just onto being a total hero against Mad Hatter, when breakfast finishes. Any momentum I had dies when Bruce gets up and announces it's time to start work. I don't mind having my thunder stolen, not when it's an emergency. I'll tell them all later.

"Please try to be delicate with the circuit board, Dick." Damian says after I've tried to cram it inside the casing for the last six minutes. Turns out it's upside down. "We have a limited supply at present." He adds, fixing it in himself after pushing my clumsy hands out the way. I sigh.

"Sorry about that. I've never been too good at assembling things without instructions." I tell him whilst beginning to seal the circuitry inside the casing with some help from some bolts and a flathead. He shrugs.

"Fortunately, with the number of beacons we must assemble, you will get plenty of practice to avoid making the same mistakes." He replies whilst programming another circuit board with the right information from the master copy.

"Yeah, I bet. How come you wanted to work with me on this little project anyway? I thought you'd hook up with Tim, seeing as you two are clearly the brainy Robin variants around here." I see his jaw clench momentarily before relaxing. He really doesn't like Tim Drake. I mean, he managed to call him 'Tim' instead of 'Drake' earlier, but it looked like a real effort for him. He clears his throat.

"We…have never enjoyed a very good relationship. Although he is two years younger than when I first meet him and therefore…innocent of his older self's many transgressions…I cannot help but despise him. He is…not what my father would have wanted from a partner in this environment."

"And us? Do we get on like a house on fire like I hope, or a like a literal _house on fire_ where I'm a wooden shack and you're a raging brushfire ready to burn me down to the foundations?" Damian smiles at me in a way that isn't creepy or foreboding. I'm hoping that's a good sign and not a warning signal for something worse.

"I have nothing but good memories of you. It is a rarity in this family. There was one incident I was less than impressed with your decision-making, but we resolved it."

"Yeah, well, I hope I don't ruin all your good memories by proving how much of an ass I am as a kid. In my time, I'm not exactly known for stellar life choices at the minute." I'm having some issues back home. Freeze was a good distraction for them, but that'll end soon. Damian smirks.

"Trust me when I say, your life problems pale in comparison to mine. However, that is irrelevant, as is your current situation in your own time. We are here and there is only one job to accomplish: restoring the timeline. Please hand me the next circuit board please." I decide I like him. Sure, he sounds like a stuck-up silver-spoon licking trust fund baby, but he's polite and focused in a way other spoilt kids aren't. I pass him another board.

"Let me ask you something. These time fragments we can step into, if it's all Bruce's chronology, couldn't you just find some past or future version of him and get his help? And, if you've been stuck here for four years, and every time period is a different year on June twenty-sixth, didn't you eventually find a pattern to them all? There's only so many June twenty-sixth dates in Bruce's history, forty-one of them to be exact. Surely they repeat after a while."

"Those are excellent questions to ask for someone who has not been trapped here for four years and has just arrived." Damian says with as much sarcasm as he can manage, which it turns out is a scary amount. I've hit a raw nerve here. He looks ready to punch me. "This is Father's timeline, but he is not in any of the fragments. The events he is directly involved in within the fragments cannot be completed due to his absence. Things go wrong. Joe Chill commits suicide. Joker throws himself in a chemical vat. Two-Face's coin always lands on its side. Buildings explode from non-existent bombs. Chaos reigns. And they loop. Endlessly. Just waiting for him to come along and correct them. You cannot navigate a maze with an outdated map. I have read Batman's entire history for clues, but without him participating in the narrative, the stories no longer follow the plot. It is bloody hard to know what's going on when the world is upside down and inside out simultaneously." I've really offended him here. I raise my hands in apology.

"Sorry, Dami. I didn't mean to get on your bad side. You know me: I've got a big mouth."

"I am very well acquainted with the size of your mouth, Dick. I just do not like being accused of standing idle waiting for Father to rescue me. I have tried to solve this problem. I have thus far failed to solve the problem. That does not mean that, left to my own devices, I would not have eventually solved it. Time is something we have plenty of here, after all."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Chapter five. Jason's POV. The second Robin is rudely awoken by Damian. A intimate conversation follows where several very personal things are revealed. As the mission to setup the time beacons gets underway, Jason finds himself having another personal conversation with Bruce, and finds himself growing frustrated with what he hears. Setup instalment for action in the next chapter where Bruce takes over narrative duties again.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 5**

 **Jason**

I don't care where or how I wake up, just as long as I do. Whether I open my eyes in a mansion or a back alley, the important thing is they open and stay that way. So, being trapped in some fucked-up version of Gotham surrounded by a cast of characters that should've been left on the cutting room floor isn't a raw deal. Any situation where I keep sucking air is a win. Still, opening my eyes on Day Two of Bruce's Timeline Mega Mashup is interesting. Damian's stood at the side of my bed...and he's naked. This sure as hell isn't my dream scenario. I just hope it isn't his either.

"Strippers are supposed to start with their clothes on." I tell him whilst propping myself up on one elbow. He frowns at me.

"It is remarkable how similar your personality is with the Jason Todd I am acquainted with." He replies as he invites himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Yeah, sit anywhere you like, mini-Bruce, rub your junk all over my sheets. It's not like I sleep here. I think the only reason I don't say that aloud is because I had three guys doing the exact same thing yesterday morning. I thought that little party was a one-off thing though, not the new standard.

"Are you here for another round?" I yawn as he folds his hands into his lap. He shrugs.

"In a manner of speaking. I was...hoping I might see some of your more...unpleasant scars."

"They're all unpleasant, kid. But hey, one crime-fighting tool to another, you're free to peek at any that take your fancy. Just so you know though, you don't have to be in your birthday suit coming in here. I'm naked because it's about the only way I can sleep: you can wear clothes if you're uncomfortable." He glares at me.

"Do I have something to be uncomfortable about?" He asks sharply. How big is the chip on this guy's fucking shoulder? I wasn't sarcastic or implying anything just now. I was just being nice. And I've pissed him off anyway. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Back the fuck up." I say, "You came into _my_ room, woke me up wanting to see _my_ ugliest mementos and then have the stones to say _I'm_ the asshole in this scenario? You may have literally come out of Bruce's balls, but that doesn't get you a free pass with me. Either be nice or get the fuck out. Got it?" Damian glare softens up a little. I watch him fold his arms and sigh.

"I...apologise for my rudeness. I was mistaken: you are not like the Jason I know. He is...less forgiving of my transgressions." I know what he means. Yesterday during our game he tried to hide it, but I saw the signs. I mean it's such a visible scar too, one none of us know anything about, and he didn't come close to using it. I reach over and tap two fingers against the bullet scar on his chest.

"This is my handiwork, huh?" I say tapping it again, "Looks old, maybe five years. So you were, what, ten when I tried to kill you?" His hand takes hold of mine and moves it away. He frowns at me.

"How can you think you caused this?"

"Because you instinctively touched it whenever you looked me in the eye yesterday morning. It's not your fault you can't hide its story from me. I touch my scars all the time when something stirs the memories back up. And, let's be honest, out of the four of us, if you didn't do it to yourself, that means it can only be me pulling the trigger." I'm a realist. I always have been. I like to think I'm a good person, but I know I'm not. Maybe it's something in the blood. If I tried to ice Bruce's real son, I must've crossed a hell of a lot of lines to get there. Mini-Bruce scoffs.

"It could've been a hunting accident for all you know."

"Not with an aimed shot like this. This isn't a rifle: this is a handgun, and at point-blank range. I've seen enough stiffs in the morgue to know one sticky end from another. This is a kill shot." I say, tapping him in the chest again. He smacks my chest with the back of his hand in retaliation. Even without all my extra bruises, that stings.

"That is where you are mistaken. Although the round did cut my heart, it was only fatal without immediate medical attention. In the scenario we were in, you shot me to buy you enough time to escape. It was a stunning display of marksmanship and cunning, worthy of the League of Assassins." Damian says almost admiringly. I smile.

"So, I'm the bad guy in the future?"

"I should not disclose any more information than I inadvertently have. Just know that...I have always respected you, regardless of your methods." He assures me like his respect alone is going to part the clouds on this pretty big issue of me being this family's Benedict Arnold. It's nice to know he doesn't hold a grudge, but that's it. I get out of bed and stand in front of him.

"Yeah? Well, you just know that I'm not that guy, not yet. Here and now, I'd give up my life if your dad told me to." I mean it. Every word. Fuck that guy who shot him in the chest. Fuck that future. None of that matters. I may not be the good person I wanted to be, but I'm sure as hell not a murderer. That much I know. Damian's face tells me he doesn't need convincing either.

"He's your father too, Jason."

"You really believe that?"

"I never used to. My inclination was that he took pity on all of you, but his affections never ran past the point of charity. As far as I was concerned, you were all just there as placeholders until I arrived. I viewed you especially as a mistake of his egotistical need to be admired." That's about as cold as it gets and it hits even harder than I thought coming from the big man's biological offspring. It's almost like him saying it instead. But it isn't. It's just this silver-spoon brat who's clearly taken Golden Boy's advice and had a trim downstairs. I can handle it. I smirk.

"And now, what, we're on equal footing?"

"This scenario makes it hard to argue otherwise. The age gap of some ten years between us has been reduced to months, we find ourselves trapped in the same place sharing the same role and, this very moment at least, our nudity makes us both vulnerable." Oh, really? Being naked makes us _both_ vulnerable, mini-Bruce? What, because we can see each other's scars? This kid needs setting straight on what a scar really is. Time to pull a secret from the vault inside my head and give him the Jason Todd definition of 'unpleasant scars'.

"Let me tell you a story about me being buck, Dami. You were nice enough to come clean on your near-fatal shot to the heart, so I'll give you something in return. The ugliest scars are never on the outside of a person's body: they're always on the inside. I sleep naked because my old man made me sleep naked every night when I was six through eight. I wet the bed and he couldn't afford to keep laundering my sheets and jammies every morning. My mom tried to tough it out, but soon found herself siding with my dad. So I slept naked on a rubber sheet. Every morning, my old man would wake me up in disgust. He usually blew his top about it and slapped me. He said he hated the smell, that he was tired of living in an old people's home. He said it was my fault I had no friends over. The kicker was even when I stopped wetting the bed somewhere around seven-and-a-half, I still wasn't allowed to wear pyjamas or have blankets. He was convinced I'd piss the bed the instant I put them on, paranoid even. The one time I tried to sneak into bed wearing pyjamas was enough for him to go completely apeshit. He ripped them off, smacked me hard across the face and yelled if he ever caught me doing it again, he'd kill me. My old man said he'd kill me for wearing pyjamas to bed. Not for wetting the bed, but for wearing fucking jammies to sleep in. My mom made him apologise the next day, but it was too late. Every time I thought about putting jammies on, I remembered my old man tearing them off my body. So I never wore them again, terrified the bastard would charge in and shred them to pieces with me still inside them." I say only to find he's looking at the doorway. I follow his lead and find both Tim and Golden Boy stood in there in pyjamas. They both look horrified enough for me to know they heard the whole story. I roll my eyes and sigh.

"Bruce wants us down in the cave." Dick says, barely able to string the sentence together. Tim nods in agreement.

"Yeah, he...uh, said he's been working most of the night and thinks we can work the sensor network with ten instead of sixteen. He wants to..." Tim trails off. "Jay, did your dad really do that to you?"

"No, Tim, I literally just made that up on the spot." I tell him sarcastically whilst jamming on a pair of grey shorts from my dresser drawer. I throw Damian another pair to spare his blushes. I cast a finger over them all. "None of you breathe a word of that. And no-one badmouth my old man. The guy was an asshole, but he did the best he could for me and my mom. Got it? The best he could." I look at Damian. "That's my ugliest scar, Dami, that one memory of my dad literally tearing away my dignity. My mom might have died of cancer, my old man might've been iced by Two-Face and I might have been raped more than half-a-dozen times to eat on the streets, but that is my worst scar. All this shit on my skin is just like abstract art by comparison." I take a moment to steady myself. Then I fling on a zip-up hoodie and walk past the doormen on my way down the stairs. They all follow me down in silence.

Bruce talks at us for like forty minutes. Blah, blah, blah. The guy drones on about how the field works, why we can cope with losing a third of our coverage and still map the time shifts, and how important it is these things are placed on immovable and unchanging landmarks. You tell immediately that he's been up all night, He repeats himself. And he struggles to find his usual dictionary to describe things. He forgets the word 'beacon' at one point and replaces it with 'bee' for nearly two minutes before Damian corrects him. He winds down by showing all the beacon drop-off points on an overhead map on the big screen. I pay full attention to this part of the presentation.

"The Narrows can cope with a single beacon, provided it is placed precisely as indicated. The same can be said of Park Row and the Bowery. Problems begin in the Financial District and Downtown. The Pioneer's Bridge is also an obstacle since the beacons can only work at a limited range without a satellite network in place. However, our intended target, William Tockman, the future Clock King, is only present in the northern areas of the city during his early childhood. According to Damian's research, he begins his experiments during his senior year of high school and then subsequent college studies at Gotham University. Both these institutions are found in Burnley and Coventry. That is where we should concentrate our efforts. The other beacons should simply act as relay stations to get the data back here."

"Yeah, how are we supposed to get the signal back here? The city's ten miles from the house, so unless you've got a broadcast tower in the attic or are going to stick our beacons on power stations...it ain't gonna reach, big guy." I tell him with a shrug. I know my math. A signal on a little beacon can only reach so far, hence the relays. But, if a relay stops short of the city lines, it isn't going reach back ten miles to where we are. It doesn't have the power. Bruce nods in agreement.

"That is an excellent question. Allow me to explain. How do you suppose the computer in the cave receives any data at all from where it is situated?"

"Satellite network." Tim answers.

"Yes, but where is our receiver for that network?"

"Father, while we all love pop quizzes on electromagnetic theory, please just tell us how this feat will be achieved?"

"Simply put, we will modify our satellite receiver for conventional radio signals emitted by the beacons. And, although we cannot penetrate the upper atmosphere because of this disturbance, using the right power output means we can bounce the signal off the ionosphere for skywave communications. The distance is therefore rendered irrelevant."

"Okay, say that's all good. We need someone sat back here to check that the network's functioning when we finish placing these things. We can't go out, plant them and then come back to find some of them are out of whack." I say. Everyone's looking at me, like they're surprised I have a mind instead of just my fists to talk for me. Well, everyone except Bruce. He just smiles and nods.

"Quite right. I trust we are all fine with Alfred handling duties as our control station?"

"So long as you don't think this means you can jump into the unknown all by your lonesome." I answer, hopefully for everyone present. Al nods at me. Good old Al. Even when he doesn't even know who I am, he's on my side.

"Master Jason is quite correct, Sir. You either go as a pair or trio, but not alone. The environment is simply too unpredictable to navigate solo. Even Master Damian did not venture anywhere unaccompanied. It is a good job I am not from his future: I doubt fifteen extra years of this madness improve my chances of survival when running for my life." The old man says to set things in stone. The big man considers his options for a minute. He looks at me, then he stares at me. After a while it becomes really uncomfortable, like he's trying to read my thoughts.

"Would any of you be offended if I wanted Jason to accompany me for the initial establishment of the beacons?" He says turning his gaze on the others after what seems like an eternity. They all look at me and it's obvious my little story time special is still on all their minds. Now he's blatantly trying to read them. Both Tim and Dick have been quieter than I'd guess is normal for them. Me covering for them by picking up the slack is also not helping his suspicions that something's happened. They all shake their heads.

"As long as you two don't run away together, I'm fine with it." Ponytail says to try and lighten the mood. He looks at each of them in turn. Tim's good, but Damian looks a little peeved with him. I get why given he's been trapped here for almost five years with just Al for company. The old guy's fine, but he isn't Bruce. And, just when his dad reappears, he gets snubbed for the street garbage Robin. I'd be pissed off too. To his credit though, he grits his teeth and bears it. I admire the hell out of him for managing that with a straight face. Bruce nods in what can only be satisfaction.

"Good. Now then, thanks to all your efforts, we have ten beacons to deploy. To ensure a margin of error, I will construct a further two beacons to bring us to twelve. Since they are quite cumbersome by necessity as well as design, transporting them to these locations will prove difficult. Most of the vehicles are unusable in their current state. I am aware Damian has been using motorcycles to get to and from the city. But none of them are capable of carrying the beacons. To that end, you three will ride bikes into the city whilst Jason and I take all the beacons in the station wagon we appropriated. We will rendezvous at Gotham Cathedral and begin our efforts from there. Factoring in construction time, equipment checks and rigging harness systems to manually move the beacons once we arrive, H-hour will commence at 1500hrs. At that time, we will be at the cathedral and ready to deploy to the targets. Is everybody clear?"

Everybody nods. Everybody gets it. I also get why the big man picked me as his special helper over the others, despite their ridiculous credentials. He wants me to tell him about the situation with all his 'kids' being here at the same time, how we're getting along. He senses someone's said something to upset things and he's guessing it's me. I may not be as smart as the other three when it comes to cold-ass intelligence, but I can read Bruce by his body language better than any of them. He hasn't gotten better at hiding his ticks in the last decade. I still recognise all the tell-tale signs to piece a narrative together. We have breakfast and then start work.

Seven hours later we're suiting up. Instead of our usual getups, all the Robins get the same black Kevlar survival suit Damian's sporting. With the same ancillaries, tunic, mask and belts, all four of us almost look like clones of each other. I get the reasoning behind the identical clothes for them – if they need a distraction to confuse or disorientate the enemy, they've got one – but I don't get why I should wear them too. After the rendezvous, we're splitting up to different areas of the city. I won't be anywhere near them. So, it doesn't matter what I wear. Looking like everyone else kind of takes the shine off being Robin too. So, I swap it out for my battle-worn togs and get in the passenger side of the station wagon as we prepare to leave. Bruce glances at me in disapproval. I return his gaze and hold it. I'm not budging. I wear this or I don't go. He knows that. Even through opaque eyelets, he knows that's what my eyes are saying. He looks away, starts the engine and drives out the tunnel for the city.

"That costume will offer you little to no protection if we encounter significant opposition." He says when we're five minutes into the journey. I shrug.

"It didn't exactly make a difference last time I fought time monsters."

"And you were injured. The survival suit would have at least offered some resistance against attack."

"How about we cut the small talk, hmm? You got me in here to tell me what's up with the Robin brigade. You're thinking someone's said something to upset the applecart and you think it's me. Don't you?" Normally, this would be the part of the conversation where he denies an ulterior motive and insists he's totally above board. Following that is five minutes of me teeth pulling to get him to admit he's only after intel and then, after I've told him whatever he wanted to know, him denying he only cares about my information. It's like a standard routine between us, or at least it has been for the past six months. I wait for the inevitable lies to start.

"You're absolutely right, Jason. I'm sorry for attempting to broach the issue in such an indirect manner. Would you please tell me what happened this morning?" He says to stun me into silence. Shit. This guy really isn't the Bruce Wayne I work with. This guy's got some humility, some give in him. And these aren't just pretty words either: he means what he's saying. This different, sincere approach of his throws me off my stride for a good ten seconds before I muster a response.

"Damian wanted to see my ugliest scar. Since it's only on the inside, I told him the story. Dick and Tim were eavesdropping. All of them were...a little...horrified by what I said. I think it's caused a bit of a...rift between us."

"Your ugliest scar? You told them why you sleep naked?" I stiffen. No way. No way I'd ever tell him that story. Not in a million fucking years. He can have my experiences as a rent boy and my mom's cancer trip, but not that one. That one is mine. I shake my head.

"You don't know that story." I say.

"Yes, I do. From the age of six until eight, your father forced you to sleep naked on a rubber sheet because you wet..."

"Stop. Talking. Now." He inclines his head but doesn't take his eyes off the road.

"You're right. I'm sorry for upsetting you. Thank you for telling me what happened this morning. We will consider the matter closed. I shall not speak of it again, I promise." I stare at him in disbelief. He still means it. Shit, this is weird. It's like someone gave him a heart. Someone gave the tinman a heart so he can love. And I told him that story? When the hell would I ever tell him THAT story?

"When did I tell you that story?" I ask after a long silence. He considers.

"Last year...Father's Day if I recall. We had a very...deep conversation on the phone."

"And...and it came about how, exactly?"

"I don't quite recall the explicit details that led to the subject, I just remember the story. You said, you wanted me to understand why you found it so difficult to trust. That was your example."

"Bullshit. You probably made that up. I bet you either overheard the conversation this morning or...I don't know, forced me to tell you my darkest secrets using truth serum."

"Why on earth would I use truth serum on you?"

"I don't know, maybe it was after I shot your kid in the chest."

"Hnn. I knew letting Damian cavort around nude was not a good idea. I take it you deduced the bullet wound on his chest was caused by your future self?"

"You don't sound all that surprised, Bruce."

"You are very bright, Jason. Where you are in my timeline likely means I do not appreciate your talents as much as I should, but hindsight is always cruel. In many respects I am glad we have this opportunity to talk. Even if it is only for a short time, I am determined to treat you better than I have in the past."

"Are we just going to gloss over the details of me putting a slug in Damian's chest then?"

"Right now, the future is unimportant. Whatever actions you may take years from now have no bearing on our current situation. Right now, you are a highly valuable asset to restoring time. This effort will fail without you. It will fail if any of you decide not to participate. Do you want to know your future or do you simply wish to know what my feelings on you are now?" I slouch against the window and look out into the dark.

"I know how you feel about me. And, from what I've seen of you so far, I'm so fucking jealous of Damian. He gets the guy I always wanted to be my dad, you without the coldest shoulder this side of Everest."

"Believe me, I can still be distant. You are still my son in the future, Jason. I am still your father. We have a good relationship. And it has been earned in the hardest way possible. A true trial by fire. I...will always, always love you, Jason, no matter what you do." I hear it, clear as a bell. He's said it before, of course, when it's needed. When I was fourteen we had a good patch where he said it almost every day. That was nice. Since I turned fifteen, not so much. Sometimes I think he hates me. But this guy, this Bruce Wayne, there's no doubt he loves me. It's actually upsetting me, how much I like him at forty-one than at thirty-three. It shouldn't be like this. If he was colder to me, more aloof, I could handle it. I can't handle this. Where the fuck is this guy? Why isn't he my dad now? Why do I have to wait eight years to get this version of him?

"I must've really made you suffer to be this nice to me now."

"We both hurt each other, deeper than I think either of us have ever been cut before or since. It was important for both of us, to grow as people. I am fortunate that, in the end, it made me a better father."

"And what did it make me?"

"It made you...a leader, but one able to trust the opinions of other people instead of just your own. It is something I still struggle to do." That sounds like admiration in his voice now. For me. Admiration from Bruce for me. I look over at him and find him looking back as the road straightens out.

"Am I a good person?"

"In the future?"

"No, in general. Do you think I am?" He smiles and looks back at the road. We're close to the city now, closer than I'd like to be for the conversation we're having. It feel like it'll end too abruptly for a good finish.

"I am proud to call you my son. I am not proud of some of the things you have done, but I am proud of you as a man. I hope this is enough revelation. Without knowing how restoring the timeline will affect our memories, I don't think it wise to discuss anything more...specific." He says. I get what he's saying. We don't want to fuck things up any worse than they have been done already. When it's this sincere and heartfelt, the big man's word is enough for me to shut up about the whole thing.

"If I trust you enough to tell you the ugliest scar story, that's enough proof we're good." I tell him.

"I'm glad. We're nearly at the rendezvous. They should have secured the area for our arrival." We announces as we pass the city limits and enter a sneak preview of hell on earth. There are no roads or buildings left standing; there are only mountains of rubble and clouds of smoke. It looks like the mother of all earthquakes has hit.

"Now what?" I ask knowing we can't transport all the beacons by hand. Bruce sticks the car in reverse and takes it back in line with the city limits sign and intact tarmac.

"We wait for the shift to pass into something more hospitable." He replies sticking it in park. I don't like that idea.

"But if Damian and the others got through, that means we could be waiting an hour for this to roll on by. What if they run into trouble while we're sat here like retards?"

"They will be fine. If this does not pass in ten minutes, I will radio to inform them of the delay." He says without chastising me for bad language. That's a nice changeup too. I make a hell of a leap in personal space and slide along the front seat until I'm sat right next to him. Without taking his eyes off the destruction in front of us, he puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes it softly. No hesitation. No awkwardness. It's just a warm gesture, something I guess most fathers do with their kids at firework displays or the movies. This isn't exactly a firework display we're watching here, but it is kind of pretty in its own gruesome way.

"You live through this?" I ask.

"Yes. The city rebuilds itself. Life goes on."

"And that crap Damian was spouting about you travelling through time?"

"That's true as well."

"Have I done some crazy stuff too, besides trying to pop the fruit of your loins?" He squeezes my shoulder again.

"You have no idea."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Things go well...and then they get inexplicably worse...**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 6**

 **Bruce**

This is not the scenario I had envisioned. Immediately after meeting at the designated rendezvous, we are besieged on all sides by Jason's undead anomalies. It seems they have been swelling their numbers since last encountered. There are approximately one hundred of them surrounding the perimeter fence of the cathedral. At present, they bar a path between us and the time beacons.

"When did they attack the house, Damian?" I ask whilst surveying the sea of grey flesh and yellow eyes. "You said you fortified the house and flooded the cave to prevent these anomalies breaching the grounds. When did they last attack?"

"Two years ago, Father."

"Why did they attack?"

"I...I had retrieved one for study. It disintegrated before it could be dissected properly." I had suspected as much. They are drawn to each other. They are attracted to other aberrations in time.

"And before that? You said the cave had not been breached in three years. Why did they attack then?" I inquire scrutinising an arm that has been pushed through the bars of the fence. The fingers end in sharp-looking claws.

"I believe it was perhaps...more body parts for analysis. The skeletons on the street. I had taken bone samples to compare with others I had encountered."

"What are you thinking, Bruce?" Dick asks from somewhere behind me. "You think they're attracted to us?"

"No. Not all of us." I turn from the fence to look at Jason who flanks my left-hand side. There is a reason he was attacked by thirty of these creatures whilst the rest of us did not come across a single one journeying to the park. Damian said these anomalies were the product of people being alive in certain time fragments and dead in others. Somewhere in this city, there is a July 26th where Jason is dead. They are attracted to him. That is why we are currently entrenched by this mass. I suspect if Jason leaves, these creatures will follow him, like moths to a flame. "Jason and I need to leave. Now. If these creatures depart with us, you three begin to place the beacons at the designated spots. Damian will take the lead as the most experienced with the shifting fragments. Radio me when you have completed the task." Jason frowns at me, as do the others.

"Father, what is going on?"

"I will explain later. Carry out the mission. Come on, Jason. Let's go." We both fire our grapnels and ascend to the rooftops opposite the cathedral grounds. The aberrations turn from the fences. It seems I was correct in my theory. The boy beside me still looks bemused by our actions. I motion for him to walk with me to the far side of the rooftop. A steady staccato of footsteps shadow our movement from below. We cross three buildings, putting up to half-a-mile's distance between ourselves and the cathedral, before looking back. The anomalies are in a solid shape at the intersection some three storeys beneath our feet.

"What's the catch here, big guy?" Jason asks regarding our unwanted followers with clear distaste. "Why'd they follow me?" The boy is smart. He knows they are not here for me. I doubt there is any way to explain my theory without revealing the darkest chapter of his future. Even if there were such a method, were he to discover the truth later, it would only create a rift between us that would be impossible to bridge. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit, please." I say whilst guiding both of us down onto the air-conditioning units to our rear. Jason obliges me and sits. I take my hand off his shoulder and sigh. "I have a theory, Jason. One that involves you and the future you have yet to live. These creatures are attracted to one another, other time aberrations that straddle the line between life and death. As Damian explained in the cave, they result from people being alive in some time fragments and dead in others. The resulting shifts have caused them to mutate." I sigh deeply before continuing. "Jason...when you are almost eighteen years old, you are killed in an explosion. Although you are resurrected shortly after...it does mean there is at least one fragment here where you are dead. I believe, the aberrations are drawn to you because of this...unique trait." Jason looks at me in deathly silence.

"Resurrected? Not...resuscitated?" The boy checks after almost a minute of quiet.

"Resurrected. I would prefer...not to go into detail about the matter. However, if you feel it is necessary, I will not keep anything from you. It would be unfair to keep you in the dark."

Jason does not speak again for more than five minutes. He does not look at me any longer either. He simply stares out at the city. I cannot imagine what he is thinking or feeling at this moment. I have no frame of reference. Even though things between Jason and myself are tentatively mended now in my time, he still has never talked about his resurrection or what he may have seen before his return. I wait patiently. During the interim, Damian radios to inform me the aberrations have left the vicinity of the cathedral and are proceeding towards our position. I instruct him to continue the mission as scheduled.

"I don't want to know. About any of it." He tells me. "Just...tell me what I should do now. These things aren't going away in a hurry. And if I can't help out without putting you guys in danger, what should I do instead?" My hand is on his back.

"We don't know enough about any of this to say that my theory is infallible. No creatures attacked the house, despite you being there for forty-eight hours. If they are attracted to you as I believe, we should have at least seen one before now. Perhaps it is not you at all – perhaps it is me." I suggest in an effort to placate him. He reacts with a smirk.

"I say we conduct some empirical research then. You go to the left of the intersection, I'll go right. Whoever they go to is the cursed one." While I would rather not leap into what could prove a long and energy-sapping battle for little reward, Jason's idea is a sound one. I nod in agreement, knowing he is vulnerable at the minute.

"Let's go."

Our arrival at street-level yields an interesting phenomenon. The crowd of aberrations divides evenly down its centre. Half stray towards me, half to the boy. It seems I was mistaken. We hold our ground until the last possible moments then retreat back to the rooftops. Jason regards them wistfully.

"Is this the whole crowd from the cathedral?"

"Damian says it is the majority."

"So, who are they here for, big man? Both of us?"

"It is uncertain. I have also been removed from this plain of existence before. Although I was alive, my physical being was transported back to the Stone Age before randomly fluctuating through the intervening centuries. Just like you, there is at least one fragment here where I do not exist either."

"So... you just said all that stuff for nothing then, about me biting the big one?" Jason says whilst continuing to regard our audience. I can offer nothing but a shrug.

"I would hope not. If I have, I feel awful about subjecting you to such unnecessary truths."

"But what you said, about us being okay where you're from, that's true, right?" The boy asks finally turning from the edge and directing his gaze on me. I nod.

"Of course."

"Then it doesn't matter. All I want to know is what we're going to do whilst the others are running around the city planting your time beacons."

"In light of what has been revealed, I would argue our best course of action is to travel to the Teem Institute and locate either the Clock King or his research for the time device. In any case, we must move from this building..." A thought enters my mind. I hastily dismiss it before Jason realises my concentration has been broken. "Since this structure did not exist until ten years ago, it is an unsafe vantage point given current circumstances. We should try to limit ourselves to Victorian architecture for the duration of our time in the city."

"Old city only, got it. Do we know what time fragment this is?" The boy asks. I briefly scan the horizon for markers to identify the rough date. A skyscraper I know to be operational in my time is merely a steel skeleton here. Judging from the lack of stories, it is almost two years from completion. Given the skyscraper has been functional for close to three years in my time, our current timeframe must be...

"Five years ago,...roughly Tim's first year as Robin." I state as a matter of fact. Jason nods.

"When do you think another shift will..." The boy is unable to finish his sentence as the ground literally vanishes beneath our feet and we begin to freefall from a tremendous height. Disorientated by the sudden shift in geography, I stick out my grapnel and fire blind, looking for any kind of purchase to arrest the descent. The grapnel latches onto something solid enough and I turn to grab Jason only to find him already on safe ground some fifteen feet to my left. It appears to be a church roof. I land on the roof of the building opposite and gather myself.

"Are you alright?" I call across. Jason nods at me.

"This isn't Victorian, big guy. You know, I don't think this even qualifies as colonial." He shouts back as I survey our surroundings for myself. He is right: this is not Victorian architecture that stretches modestly into the distance. All the buildings are short in stature, save our two vantage points, made of wood and lacking in any basic amenities. This is further back than my own lifetime and almost before Gotham's itself. The thatched rooves of the other structures, dirt paths intersecting them, and large animal pens suggest the age of early European settlers or the mid-seventeenth century. That unpleasant thought I had seems to have been confirmed.

"We need to reconvene with the others. Now."

Finding them proves difficult. Without a radio tower to help broadcast the communications signal, we are forced to search for them on foot, using a mental mind map of the cityscape to locate the future site of Gotham Cathedral and then their most likely starting point to attach the beacons. After almost an hour of wandering through dense woodland and minor pockets of civilisation, we happen across them almost by chance. Damian is quick to allay blame.

"Father, this never happened before now, I swear." He assures me. I hold up a hand to indicate I am not going to chide him.

"My presence is to blame, I think. My trip through time appears to have vastly increased possible time fragments so that they span centuries instead of mere decades. We need to navigate back to the road outside of Gotham. There are theories to test."

We reach the partition between the city and the road to the house after another two hours of slow movement through the untamed landscapes beyond the settlement. As soon as we cross the threshold that separates the time fragments, we all witness the city shift back into place.

"Does this mean, you can't really set foot in the city without sending us back too far in the past?" Tim asks me as we stand regarding the cityscape.

"It would seem my experiences of time travel have a direct effect on the number of time fragments available. Victorian architecture needs to be a constant factor, otherwise the beacons will not function. I have the feeling that, if I continue to operate within the city, we may find ourselves in the prehistoric age of the country. Such a scenario will only hinder our efforts to reverse what has happened here."

"So... what do we do now? We ditched the beacons in the swamp that suddenly appeared underneath us." Dick says. I consider.

"How many were you carrying?"

"One each, Father. The rest were, still in the truck. If we had not removed them, the weight of the beacons would have drowned us in the water."

"The beacons are too heavy to float. They would have sunk, meaning that, now Gotham is back, they are located several feet underground, likely beneath layers of concrete and pipes. The truck should be simple enough to locate now."

"How come we didn't plan for this contingency?" Tim inquires with a deflated sigh which I share.

"Clearly introducing the origin point to what is essentially an ongoing experiment produces volatile and unpredictable events. We were working so hard on manufacturing the time beacons, we did not examine the minutiae of our situation closely enough. In truth though, this is no-one's fault but my own. I should have known this could happen."

"Does this mean we have to work without you, big guy?" Jason asks turning to look at me. I have to be blunt.

"Until we can devise a means of counteracting this effect, yes. The four of you will need to place the remaining time beacons in the pattern we discussed and then return to the cave."

"Are you going to head back now?"

"No. I will remain here in the unlikely event you run into trouble. Whether or not my presence causes a colossal shift in time, none of you are dying on my watch. Understood?" They all nod in unison. I nod back. "Good. Now, Jason with Tim and Dick with Damian. Locate the time beacons. Set up the initial ring of five and then gradually space the remainder out whilst maintaining concentric circles. Radio me directly after installation of each time beacon so I may remotely test their connectivity. I will then relay my data back to the cave so Alfred may confirm we have coverage. Once they are all in place, acquire a vehicle so we may return to the cave in convoy. If you are unable to locate the bikes, find alternatives."

They return to the city as I stand helpless before it. This is not what I had in mind for restoring order to the world. The next six hours are a never-ending ream of location and status updates by both teams as they carefully scale unruly buildings and attach unwieldy transmitters to the stonework. I witness the city change five times. Initially displaying the city as when I became Batman, with the Wayne Enterprises tower still under construction, it returns to the rubble of the earthquake, then becomes covered in ice from an incident I recall with Victor Fries. The last two shifts display the city as I remember from my early childhood, without many of the steel and glass towers that dominate the area now, then to a curious mixture of four different times simultaneously where all structures flicker and seem as if they will melt or crumble at a moment's notice. I advise them as best I can, but know they can handle the shifts well enough. I feel remarkably redundant in this scenario. Even the testing of the network could be accomplished by Alfred.

Irrespective of my own feelings, the network proves operational and effective. When Damian and Dick inform me the last beacon is in place, I instruct both parties to sit and wait for another imminent shift. Less than one minute later, I watch as the landscape alters for a sixth time. It looks remarkably normal and, if I am not mistaken, matches my year of departure. Satisfied of the network's effectiveness in mapping the shifts, I tell the boys to rendezvous at my location for extraction to base. Twenty-seven minutes pass before a minivan emerges from the city and pulls up alongside me. The driver's side window rolls down and I find Damian is behind the wheel. He smirks at me.

"Do you need a lift, Father?"

"Thank you, Son." I get into the passenger seat only to discover the car is empty.

"Where are the others?"

"Jason wanted to ride the bike back. I volunteered to drive you."

"What is their ETA?"

"One minute."

"Good. Would you have any objections to me driving though?" I say only for him to scowl at me.

"I am a capable driver, Father. I learned to drive manual when I was nine."

"I am certain you are a good driver, Damian. However, you have been working for the last six hours and then almost four hours before that. I think it would be sensible for me to take the wheel journeying back." I offer, attempting to be diplomatic about the situation. He scoffs.

"I am not fatigued, Father. I can manage another twenty minutes of activity."

"Damian, I have already proved to be somewhat useless this evening with my contribution. let me drive back. Please?" I tell him. He sighs lethargically.

"Very well." We exchange places just as the three bikes join us on the road. I instruct Dick to take point whilst Jason and Tim bring up the rear. We begin the journey back moments later. As I drive, I glance over at Damian. The boy is asleep with his head against the window and his arms folded. Just as I suspected, he is exhausted. I do not wake him and return my gaze to the road where Dick is just visible in the glare of the headlights. I can only imagine how difficult the last four years have been for the boy, being stranded in this place. I should try to talk to him more. It looks as if we will all be stuck here a while longer. We reach the safety of the cave within a few minutes of three in the morning and are greeted by Alfred.

"Any resistance?" The old man asks as he inspects Tim in the medical bay. "It was hard to tell with the lot of you running about."

"We saw a few pockets of time monsters, but nothing like outside the cathedral at the start." Tim answers as Alfred scrutinises a scrape on the boy's left forearm. "Slipped a few times getting to the top of the courthouse." Tim explains before his physician can pose the question.

"West side was worst under foot than we thought." Jason adds dispensing with his tunic in anticipation of his own time on the table. "Planted all four that we had though. Faster than Team D and D." He says with a smug grin in their direction. Damian is visibly irked.

"We had one more beacon to place than you. It is little wonder you completed your task faster."

"Yours were closer together. Tim and me had go nearly ten blocks for one of them." Jason responds, still smiling.

"Ours were higher up." Dick chimes in to bolster their defence. "I doubt you two could even scale one of our vantage points. Experienced climbers only."

"Which one?" Tim asks as Alfred declares him fit for duty following application of disinfectant and a non-stick dressing to his arm.

"The Draycott Building." Damian informs him. Jason scoffs.

"You mean that one with the tiny little overhang?"

"It's twenty-feet up and sticks out four feet. It's not little. A twenty-pound beacon on your back? It's like Everest." Dick retorts. Jason laughs in his face.

"You're such a girl, Golden Boy. I've climbed that half-a-dozen times before. Pretty sure I outweigh you by twenty pounds right now. And, if I can do it, so can Tim."

"I can do it without weight. I don't know how well I'd do with a beacon." Tim admits to weaken their argument. Jason glances over at him in disapproval. The other boy seems to pick up on this and hastily adds something. "But I've scaled Wayne Enterprises from the ground floor without a harness. That's harder than Draycott for a technical challenge." Jason claps him on the shoulder.

"Hell, yeah it is, Tim! I've done that climb and it's a total bitch. I know Ponytail hasn't climbed it yet either. Didn't manage until he was eighteen for a solo ascent." Dick looks less than impressed with this, despite it being the truth.

"If we weren't in serious trouble, I'd race you to the top right now." The first Robin declares bullishly, a tactic one should never employ with someone as headstrong as Jason. His successor adopts a wide grin.

"And you'd lose." The pair of them, blatantly brimming with testosterone and teenage hormones, look close to blows. I stand between them before anything can happen.

"Enough. You, go to the table and you," I say pointing at Dick, "you know better." Dick takes a deep breath and turns away from Jason who adopts a smug expression and waltzes to the table, thoroughly pleased with himself. We are all tired from this evening's...fun. I will need to re-think our strategy now we know of this 'wildcard' element. I order them all to bed and sit at the command console in thought. The screen currently displays an aerial map of the city, now with the beacon locations firmly plotted, along with their individual fields of detection. Nine is not sufficient. I run a hand down the length of my face and gather myself for another long night.

"A pot of coffee, Sir?" Alfred asks from near to my shoulder. I incline my head.

"Yes, thank you, Alfred."

"I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm dead, Master Bruce. We all are." I turn my head only to be confronted by a grey-faced corpse in a butler's uniform, flanked by four smaller bodies in Robin costumes. Long claw-like fingers reach for my face. I awake with a start. Alfred leans over me. He is not a corpse, but does not look impressed.

"Still a hypocrite, are we, Master Bruce? You send the boys to bed, but insist on working yourself to death. I could barely fathom how you managed the balancing act in your twenties. To be doing this same threadbare routine at forty-one beggars belief. Bed, now. I shall do the same." Alfred exudes command and control at any age. That he is younger, and therefore less traumatised by the lives we lead, is an advantage instead of a crutch. He is less broken by a lifetime of watching me ignore his advice and counsel. I wearily nod in agreement.

"This is becoming very complicated, old friend. Even the first step in our plan has hit a stumbling block. I fear the rest may follow suit." I remark rising from my chair and walking in the direction of the stairs. The old man shadows me closely.

"We both know no plan survives first contact with the enemy, Sir. Since this enemy is both unseen and unknown, it is only natural we should encounter sticking points so early. Tomorrow will prove more fruitful. Your boys are all exceptional...Master Damian especially so." Alfred says as we begin our ascent to the library.

"How has he been the last years? Well-behaved I trust?" I inquire. I hear him audibly smirk at this and find myself smiling too. He clears his throat.

"He missed you very much, Sir. So, did I, if I can be honest. We both feel better having you give a helping hand. Master Damian's positivity since your arrival is particularly refreshing after so many years of brooding."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, if this turns out the way I intend, none of us will retain any memory of these events. Whatever pain or loneliness he has been feeling, will no longer exist." I assure him as we near the summit.

"While they still do, Master Bruce, might I recommend you spend some time with him? Beyond strategizing our mutual escape, I mean." Alfred says once we are inside the darkened library. I clap him on the shoulder in wordless commitment to his suggestion. He inclines his head. "Goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, Alfred. And thank you."

When I enter my bedroom, I find Damian asleep atop of the bedsheets. Next to him is an open notepad and pencil. I pick it up and find he has been attempting to determine a method that stops me from causing time shifts using quantum theory and a series of mathematical formulae. Judging from the violent scribbling across the entire page, he has not been successful. A brief scan indicates he is closer than he believes. Perhaps if he were not so tired, the answer would come to him. I put the materials on the nightstand and go shower. When I return, now dressed in my pyjamas, I find he is still asleep, but has rolled onto his side. I regard him in silence for a few moments, marvelling at his new elongated limbs and strong chin. The resemblance is uncanny. Like the others, puberty seems to agree with him in ways it never does with others. There are no acne scars on his face, no misshapen proportions to his frame or a dearth of muscle mass to make him appear scarecrow-like. I have noticed his voice squeaks on occasion, but it is rare. I also made note of his cologne. It is _my_ cologne. I think about waking him. Then I decide it is not worth the trouble. He is dreaming peacefully. It is more than deserved.

I lie on the bed behind him. I reach over and comb through his hair once before shuffling up and pulling him flush against my chest. I wrap my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder. He is so much bigger. It is a frightening transformation from my perspective. Two days ago, he was a small boy; now he is almost the same size as me, save for extra sixty or so pounds in weight. I kiss his cheek and firm up my grip on his torso. He stirs into half-consciousness.

"Father?"

"Yes, Damian. It's me."

"I'm sorry for falling asleep here. I wanted to...solve the problem." He mumbles. I comb through his hair in a manner I hope is soothing.

"It's alright, Son. You've almost got it. Go back to sleep."

"I should go." He says without making any effort to move at all. I know he does not want to. I do not want him to either. He settles down further into both the mattress and my embrace. "I missed you, Father." He says in a barely intelligible voice. I smile and let my eyes close.

"I missed you too, Son."

I awake sometime later to find the boy pressing his hand against mine. He is now sat cross-legged next to me and regarding our respective hands with a slight hint of disappointment. I raise my eyebrows at him. He notices my gaze and sighs.

"I thought my hands would be comparable to yours by now, Father. Did I disturb you?"

"No, Son. How long did you sleep?"

"Roughly six hours have passed since you woke me. I slept very well." He says lacing our fingers together, as is his habit in these situations, whilst I pull up onto my elbow. I squeeze his hand.

"I'm glad. I know I haven't spent a great deal of time just talking to you so far..." I begin only for Damian to hold up a hand to stop me.

"It's quite alright...Dad." He says, seeming to test the word out with some uncertainty. "I know our priority here is to fix the problem and return to normalcy, and I appreciate your objectivity on the matter. Feelings are secondary concerns." He is a practical boy. He always has been. But I know how easy he can hurt inside. With the right stimuli, as ridiculous as it may sound, it is even possible to reduce him to tears. I smile at him.

"I like 'Father' better." I say. He frowns.

"Did it sound awkward?"

"No. I just like the way you say 'Father' more."

"Why?"

"It makes me feel special." I tell him honestly. The boy adopts a smile that is almost bashful.

"I enjoy when you call me 'Son'. It makes me feel special too." He admits with a certain degree of shyness I am not used to hearing in his voice. I think it wonderfully endearing. "You know, Father, I thought that perhaps, you would not like me, now I am... older and less...adorable than you remember." He says swinging our linked hands absently. I shrug.

"You may not be the beautiful child you were, but you are very handsome as means of compensation." He takes this compliment to heart as well and appears visibly buoyed by the praise.

"Alfred says I look just like you at fifteen."

"He is right. However, you are infinitely more accomplished than I was."

"If I were more accomplished, I would be able to solve your time shift problem." The boy says parting our hands and taking hold of his notepad and pencil from the nightstand. "I just cannot find enough room to adjust the variables so they reconcile."

"Perhaps it will come to you over breakfast. Are the others up yet?" I say plucking the pad from his hand and setting it to one side. Damian nods.

"Dick and Jason are having another naked scar party. Tim is refereeing. I believe it is serving as an alternative to their bickering last night." He tells me, as if he were merely an innocent bystander to proceedings.

"You were all bickering, Son. Do not think I did not notice your contribution to the fanning the flames."

"We were all tired, Father. For what it is worth though...Jason started it." He says with a mischievous smile new to his repertoire. I narrow my eyes but smile regardless. It is nice to find some semblance of levity in so dire a situation as we all currently find ourselves.

"Shall we go force them into sudden death before the eggs get cold?" I say already on my feet. Damian joins me with vigour.

"Definitely."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Things begin to turn sour after starting so positively. Next chapter will be big.** **Damian's POV.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 7**

 **Damian**

There is a variable I missed. There is a solution to this conundrum. It occurred to me during Father's explanation of why the beacon network is insufficient for our purpose. If it is Father's electrical field causing the time skips, by it somehow not agreeing the electrical field of the environment, perhaps we can adjust it so that it matches his surroundings. All we would require in that instance is a portable generator that when worn will continually monitor and adjust Father's electrical field to match the environment at any given time. I believe my knowledge of temporal mechanics and quantum theory will allow me to succeed in this endeavour. I begin before Father even concludes his briefing.

"Need a hand?" It is Drake. I have been working for thirty-five minutes without interruption, however I have felt his eyes watching me since the beginning. Now he speaks, as if he could even comprehend my theory, let alone its practical application to the belt I am designing. I look up briefly.

"No. Your time would be better served assisting the others in constructing more beacons." I privately pat myself on the back for my diplomacy. The last few days have not been easy, especially with Drake swanning around. Dick is my friend, no matter his age. Jason is a warrior, one I can admire now, despite what he does to me in the future. They both deserve the Robin name at fifteen, as do I. Drake...Drake is a joke. He is a small, scrawny specimen without any of the fire or grit everyone else possesses in spades. He has always been weak and overconfident, but to see him in his infancy just highlights how little development has taken place over the years. He can only be a hindrance to this mission's success.

"Nah, we only need three. After the last two days, we can all pretty much make one each. It looks like you need some assistance though."

"Perhaps you should get your eyes tested...Tim. I am fine working without help." I tell him whilst resuming the delicate act of incorporating Father's algorithm into the belt's sensor network to better adapt to transitions. The circuitry seems correct. I connect it to the laptop I use for program uploads and test it with a series of hypothetical scenarios. It fails to cope with a simulated time shift immediately. Drake is still in front of me. The next time I try to run the scenario after tweaking the software, the circuitry melts. I maintain a straight face to not give Drake the satisfaction of seeing me disappointed. He rounds the table without being asked and then unceremoniously peers over my right shoulder at the belt.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" Drake is not asking it as an honest question: he has his own theory on the matter, despite having no idea what I am trying to accomplish. I sigh lethargically.

"Tell me your asinine theory then."

"That's the wrong resistor for the circuit you're using. The first time you got lucky: the second time, the current..."

"I do have eyes as well, Drake. I did just see the same thing you did." I snap to cut off his kindergarten lesson on resistor use in circuitry. I hold up a hand. "You've said your piece and I have listened. Now kindly go away and leave me to my work." Drake lingers behind me for some time before standing up. I have already removed the defective circuit and begun work its replacement, ensuring I select the correct resistor before giving attention to anything else. I know he wants to say something.

"I care about him too, you know. We need him out there with us if we're going to fix this mess. Whatever problems you have with me in your time, I suggest you bury them...for the good of the mission if nothing else. And make sure that thing works. You know what'll happen if you don't." I do not respond. I simply continue working. He walks away. I don't need to explain myself to an idiot like him. I may have given him some leeway during our earlier games, but that does not mean he is worthy of my time. I deem the device both complete and functional ninety minutes later. When I present it to Father, he looks dubious.

"Are you certain this will work according to our needs? I think it may be prudent to run further tests on its usage before graduating to field testing." I do not like being second-guessed, not after nearly five years alone. Alfred is an accommodating presence, but not in any position to question my actions. Father has just arrived. Whilst I grant his knowledge level is beyond almost all other human beings on Earth, it is no longer beyond mine. My time here has taught me to trust my instincts. They tell me I am right to hand him this technology. They tell me it will work, like all my other innovations in this desolate landscape. I remain firm.

"I have done all necessary calculations required. According to all simulations run, it will prove capable of sustaining an eight-hour operation without problem." Or so I believe. I admit to...assuming certain aspects of its performance, but overall am satisfied it will be effective. Father still appears unsure, but accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

"The beacons are almost ready for deployment. To ensure speed and efficiency, Alfred will join us. We can check the connectivity of the network upon return. He and I will form a team. Your pairings from yesterday will remain unchanged. We will depart as soon as the beacons are loaded for transport. We need to progress, quickly." We are all aware that time is an abundant commodity here. I understand the concept of 'spinning my wheels' with far greater appreciation than before being trapped here. I appreciate many things now, that I used to dismiss. I want to leave. Soon. Father's urgency mirrors my own. It pleases me to no end. I nod in agreement.

"Yes, Father."

The beacons are completed and loaded before midday. Father and Alfred ride in the transport vehicle. Everyone else takes the bikes. This time, Jason opts to wear the same uniform as the others. It suits him as well as it suits Dick and Drake, I.e. not at all. It hardly comes as a surprise to me. I have always looked the best in the Robin uniform, something that this experience has only thrown into sharper relief. Dick and Jason decide to race one another on route to the city. They are as brash and competitive as they are in my time, but evidently running on much greater amounts of testosterone here. Drake rides alongside the car's left flank. I take the right.

Several times I catch him looking at me. I know why. This is because he deliberately telegraphs his concerns by looking at my father and then to me. He is unconvinced of the belt's ability to work. He thinks I am putting Father in danger, given what happened before. I gift him a hard stare and his mute inquisition stops abruptly. Ahead, Jason is winning. Dick does not look interested in the contest anymore. Neither am I. I just want this ordeal to be over. Enough time has been wasted. Once this sensor network is complete and we can track the Clock King accurately, the other pieces required for this solution will fall into place. I am certain of it.

We cross the city limits without incident. Once at Gotham Cathedral, the aberrations begin to gather as they did before. Fortunately, a strategy has been devised to counteract the effect. It involves both Father and Jason's teams splitting in opposite directions, therefore dividing the attentions of the aberrations and getting them to disperse. While both those teams will find placing their beacon difficult, Dick and I are going to breeze through our task. This time, we will win easily.

When a time jump occurs, twenty minutes after our arrival, the cityscape is wholly recognisable. For me, this is proof enough the belt works perfectly, as I expected. There is a minor problem that might occur...but the chances of it resulting in disaster are negligible. Judging from the incomplete Wayne Enterprises skyscraper on the horizon, it is only a few years after Father's birth. The building was completed and operational by the time of my grandparents' murder. It is not our destination. Our destination is in the Financial District, specifically the very edge of it.

We must place the beacon atop of the Clairmont Building, a former railway station that became one of the largest privately-owned banks in Northern America by the mid 1920s. Even the earthquake did not destroy the building. It only moved its foundations six inches. It is ideal for our requirements. I often come here when I need a safe haven during my travels. Despite my absolute expertise in climbing the structure, Dick fluidly scales it several seconds ahead of me. The fact he is the one shouldering the beacon only puts me in further awe of his abilities. He is stronger than he looks, frightening since he already possesses an enviable build. I did not enjoy seeing him unclothed. His abdominal development is superior to mine, as are some other attributes found below the waistline I am not willing to discuss. He was not the only one.

I thought I had developed well during these last few years. Both my height and weight followed upward trajectories, well beyond the normal range for adolescents. My strength, stamina and endurance also increased markedly. In short, when Father did finally arrive, I expected to be something he could be proud of. Then the others came along. Although I am taller than all of them, Both Jason and Dick are better-built. In Dick's case it is from an aesthetic standpoint. In Jason's, he is simply bigger and thicker than anyone else. He would destroy me in a strength-based competition. Even Drake is better sized than me where I understand it really counts. That irks me. And I needed a trim, apparently. I have corrected that problem, but there is little I can do about other shortcomings. We graduate up to the building's highest spire.

"You really came through for the big guy earlier with that belt, Dami." Dick tells me whilst hanging upside down to better tighten the bolts on the beacon's bracket. "How'd you fix it so quick? I thought it'd take a few days to iron-out at the very least."

"I just got lucky." I tell him whilst switching the device on and checking its status. All lights show green. It is working. When I hear a low, but constant beep, I know it is linked with its nearest neighbour, across Gotham Bridge. I radio Father and give him a situation report.

 _"Good. We are almost finished here. I understand Jason and Tim are already at the rendezvous point, awaiting our return."_ I grit my teeth at that statement. It. Is. Impossible. We had less distance to travel, an easier vertical climb and the advantage of not having to evade time aberrations to accomplish our goal. I made sure they received the more difficult task. By my estimates, they should not have completed their placement for another twenty-two minutes. I accounted for both their skillsets and the likelihood that Jason would carry that team sooner rather than later. I compose myself for a dignified response.

"We will be heading to the rendezvous in three minutes. We should arrive nine minutes after. Robin out."

 _"We're ALL Robin, dumbass? If you want us to know which one you are, use numbers. You're Robin FOUR. Got it?"_ Jason interrupts over the net, breaking multiple conventions by doing so. I do not reply to his childish games. I am above such nonsense. I look over and catch Dick smiling at his successor's attempts at humour. I do not like that he is amused. It paints him in a bad light.

"It's secure." Dick tells me with an inverted thumbs-up gesture. "We're hot to trot. Sucks we got beaten to the finish line. Really thought we were killing it out here." He is a better sportsman than me. I am livid to come second in anything, especially a competition to determine who is the best Robin, which this whole exercise is clearly about.

"We can still beat Father and Alfred back to the rendezvous. If we come last to a butler..."

"Alfie was SAS, Dami. I'm guessing before we all showed up, he was pretty good. Chill, okay? It's just banter. The most important thing is..." He trails off deliberately. It is an obvious prompt for me to finish his sentence. If he were anyone else, I would ignore such feeble tactics. I sigh.

"The mission. The mission is the most important thing."

"Damn right. You sound just like the big man. Come on, let's go."

We do not beat Father back to the rendezvous. I am now bitterly disappointed with our efforts, despite achieving our goals in short order. It is not Dick's fault. His fluidity is undiminished on ropes. I missed two vital transitions for my grapnel line. My corrections meant we arrived almost forty-five seconds behind my estimates. It is not enough for most to best me, but it is ample time for Father. Evidently, all the years chasing me across the city have benefited Alfred's speed and fitness to their advantage. Father is succinct in plotting our next manoeuvres.

"With the network in place, we can now track time shifts and predict what will come next. We now need to exploit this to quickly gather all necessary information on the devices. The time-altering device should be our top priority. It is that equipment that will determine whether we succeed or fail. Understood?"

We all nod in agreement. I thought the objectives from this juncture were obvious, but I forget his audience. When I consider our allies, his spelling-out of the situation makes perfect sense. They are somewhat...obtuse in comparison with myself and Father. He turns towards the half-finished Wayne Enterprises building and seems lost in thought. Alfred mirrors him.

"Reminiscing, Sir?" The old man asks him. Father offers him half-a-smile.

"Just...thinking, old friend. Just thinking. Let us return to the house."

Alfred claps him on the back. Before I can caution them against interfering with the belt's artificial field, both are suddenly engulfed in a blinding red light. I cannot speak. There is no time. I watch in mute horror as the red light emits an ear-piercing screech then compresses into nothing. Father and Alfred are gone. Completely. I have...killed them both. The belt failed. It was...it was...

CRACK

I lose my balance and fall to the ground. I look up and find Jason looming over me, his face is beyond irate. He jabs a finger in mine.

"You didn't fucking tell them, did you?"

"What are you...?"

"Tim said this could happen. He said as long as they didn't touch properly, it didn't matter if that belt didn't work perfectly. You didn't tell them though, did you?" Suddenly, Dick is beside Jason, gently pushing him back.

"Jay, what are you talking about? What the hell just happened to them?" He asks his predecessor. I hear Drake sigh from just out of view.

"They imploded due to interference with the artificial field interacting with another electrical field that did not match the environment. It was too much for the belt's software to calculate in time. The phase variance was too sensitive." Drake informs everyone to tar me as the villain of this piece. It is...Father is...I have...

Killed him.

I killed my father...

"I have no idea what any of that means. How do we get them back?" Dick's voice asks from above me. It all suddenly sounds very far away from me. Even as Drake offers up a damning reply, I barely hear him speak the words I already know will condemn me.

"We can't."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Team cohesion required going forward. Whilst Tim insists he can't fix things without Damian, Dick and Jason clash over their methods to get the fourth Robin back on the team. This leads to a little heart-to-heart between the first and second holders of the Robin mantle. Told from Tim's POV for the first section and then Dick's POV for the second. The two sections are separated by the speaker's name above the text.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 8**

 **Tim**

I really don't know how I can make this any clearer. Damian's belt was too sensitive to sudden changes in its artificially created field. When Alfred touched Bruce, their two fields caused an implosion that wiped them from existence. I've explained this to both Dick and Jason at least ten times since we left the rendezvous and came back to the cave. I've drawn diagrams, tried analogies and all sorts of metaphors to get the point across as simply as I can. Damian screwed up the belt, Bruce and Alfred paid the price and are gone now. Yeah, I went that basic. But, no matter how times I try to explain it to them, they both just demand I fix it. Like I'm an expert on whatever the hell is happening here. And, all the time they're hounding me for answers I don't have, Damian sits in the corner in a state that borders on catatonic. They're both pissed-off. When they ask me how to get them back for the umpteenth time, _I_ get pissed-off.

"You can't get them back! I've been telling you for a freaking hour, but you're not listening!" I say launching the dry-wipe marker across the room. I look at the glass board I've scrawled half-a-dozen equations and diagrams on and sigh. I should've looked at this one a little more closely before throwing my toys out. I roll my eyes at what probably looks like a fundamental error. "I mean, _technically_ they still exist. Because this whole place is essentially Bruce, he has to exist for it to function. If he no longer existed in any form at all, this pocket universe would collapse and take us along with it. So, on some level, he still exists. But not in the physical sense."

"Well, we need him back in the 'physical sense', Tim." Jason says from behind my back. "We can follow the plan and finish the devices, but we can't fix this without using Bruce as our prism, like that smug asshole in the corner was saying before he went full vegetable." I turn around and eye him distastefully.

"You know he's not a vegetable, Jay. He's just in shock. You punching him, really didn't help." I say only for him to roll his eyes and scoff.

"He deserved it. If he had just said for the big guy to be careful, we wouldn't be in this fucking mess. You said you tried to warn him in the cave, but he wouldn't listen." Jason pauses long enough to cast a long sideways look at Bruce's kid, "He's just lucky the old man and his butler aren't really dead, otherwise I'd leave him right there to rot."

"That's enough." Dick snaps from his chair at the command console. He and Jason exchange really intense stares. "Don't pretend like you haven't done anything stupid trying to help Bruce. If I have, and I've done it a lot, so have you and so, has Tim. Nobody's better than anyone else. We're all as stupid as each other. Got it?" He adds without getting to his feet. Jason walks over to him, puts a hand on the armrests of his chair, and gets right in his face.

"You're not in charge here, Golden Boy. Thanks to darling Dami, nobody is anymore. So, be careful how you speak to me."

"You going to hit me too, Jay? Then what? You and Tim are going to solve this mess on your own?"

"If we have to. Tim's the smart Robin here. And he isn't an asshole about it either."

"You guys need to stop, right now." I say to get both their attentions. "I can't do this without Damian. And his research isn't enough, I need _him_ to help me. And I need you guys to help _us_." They just look at me like I'm crazy. Jason scoffs.

"I don't know if Ponytail here..."

"I don't even have a ponytail, Jay..."

"Yeah, but you will, so it's fine. I don't know if the Robin progenitor agrees with me, but I'll go on record and say I'm pretty dumb compared to you and the mini-Bruce. Unless it involves fighting and/or doing grunt work, like lifting something heavy or fetching something important, I'm not going to be much good here." Jason says candidly before turning his attentions back to Dick. "What about you, Golden Boy? You going to fib and say you have the slightest idea what Tim's been talking about for the last hour? I know you're just as clueless as me." Dick just smiles at him.

"I know I am too. But I also know I'll do whatever it takes to save Bruce and Alfie. Starting with the obvious here..." He pushes Jason back from him with a soft touch whilst standing up. My immediate predecessor doesn't get aggressive at being made to give his ground. He looks as curious by what Dick's about to do as I am. "We're missing someone important." He adds before wandering over to where Damian is sat staring into space. He doesn't say anything to him. He just hugs him. "I've thought I've killed him a bunch of times too, Dami. You must know he can't be killed by now, right? You know he's indestructible. Imploding is nothing to a guy like Bruce. Why do you think none of us are as broken-up as you are? We know we'll get him back. We always get him back. Yeah?" Dick tells him in the kind of gentle, caring voice I don't think I could ever pull off as effectively, even if I had a hundred years to practice. I look over and see Jason's got his eyebrows raised. He's impressed. I can tell that much. When I look back to Dick, I see Damian's buried his face in the chest of what I guess is the closest thing he has to a brother. Hell, Dick's the closest thing I've got to a brother, back in my time.

"I messed up, Dick. I messed up so badly..." We all hear Damian practically wail. I can literally feel his pain from here. Kid gets trapped here for four-and-a-half years waiting for Bruce and, in less than four days, he's gone again, maybe permanently. It'd rip me apart too if I thought that was my fault. We know he's about to cry. Dick just serenely pats his back.

"No, you didn't, Dami." He assures him, even though both me and Jason are pretty convinced this is all his fault. Reverse-psychology? Is that Dick's strategy here? Because that's a weak argument, especially with someone as smart and headstrong as Bruce's kid.

"I failed as his son. I killed Alfred...I just...I just wanted to go home again. Really, go home. I wanted my life back, so badly..." I close my eyes when the sobbing starts to echo around the cave. It sounds like agony beyond imagination from where I'm standing. He probably kept a lot of it inside the last few years too. It goes on for what seems like forever, until Jason apparently can't stand it any longer.

"Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!" He yells loud enough to drown out the crying. I open my eyes to see both Dick and Damian staring at Jason. Robin number four has stopped crying.

"You think we should feel sorry for you because you lost _one_ dad? Both me and Dick were already down a father before we met Bruce...and a mom. If anybody should be crying their eyes out at losing Dad Number Two, it's us. But we're not, are we? Because he's not dead and we can get him back if you just get your fucking shit together and help us. You're supposed to be Robin. Robins are soldiers. Soldiers win wars. Pull yourself together for longer than a minute and we might just win this one." Jason says with all the compassion of a dead-eyed drill sergeant entering his third decade of military service. Dick looks ready to murder his successor.

"Jesus, Jay. I mean, are you completely dead inside or do you just like kicking people when they're down begging for help?" Dick snaps, moving away from Damian. This really doesn't look like it's going to end well, especially when Jason moves towards his predecessor with intent.

"Whatever touchy-feely bullshit you were just trying to use wasn't working. If you want to get in touch with your feminine side, go see the doctor about that sex reassignment surgery. We haven't got time for him to have a hissy fit. He needs to get off his ass, and to this board, to help Tim now." I block Jason's path to Dick when they get within six feet of each other. He looks right through me.

"Jay, we don't need you to fight. You said so yourself, we're Robins. We're soldiers, and all of us are on the same team. We have to work together or we might as well have a last-man-standing competition." I say only for him to still only have eyes for Dick. I can tell he's wondering what colour his predecessor's blood is – red or yellow. I know from thugs on the street that he's only a few seconds away from throwing me to one side and launching himself at Dick. I sigh. I know there's only one thing that a guy with Jason's principles will accept in lieu of combat for settling this argument. "Damian is going to apologise to you." I say. Jason finally looks down at me from his three-inch height advantage.

"Yeah?" He checks. I nod. He looks past me. "You going to apologise to me, asshole?"

"I will apologise to everyone, Jason." I hear Damian say from behind me. I turn around to look at him as he clears his throat. "I... made a mistake. I was in error with my calculations when setting the belt. They were..." He clears his throat again whilst rubbing his eyes dry, "incorrect. I'm sorry, to all of you, for not being more careful. If you're willing to have me, I would like to assist in retrieving Father and Alfred from wherever my arrogance has sent them." As far as apologies go, it's okay. More important than the words though, is the sincerity with which he said them. He sounds _really_ sorry about what's happened. I forgive him for being a brat. No man is an island, except for a boy trapped in time. I gesture to the board.

"So, let's find them already."

"One second there, Tim. Just one more thing." Jason says, bumping past me to offer Damian his hand. "Sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that." Damian doesn't even hesitate in shaking it firmly.

"If our positions were reversed, and you had seemingly killed my father, I would've done a lot worse than just hit you. Thank you for being...conservative." The pair of them smile at one another in an understanding that only comes with being a Robin. Dick claps his hands.

"Great. Now then, how's about you and Dami go work on our problem, Tim? Jay and I need to have a quick word." He says. Both me and Damian shoot him a concerned stare. The one he gives us back promises this quick word of theirs isn't going to end in a fistfight. I'm on the fence with that promise, but we both go over to the board anyway.

"Start from scratch?" I ask my humbled colleague reaching for the cleaning cloth. Damian, still in his Robin tunic, nods whilst shedding his cape and throwing it into the same corner as the marker.

"Start from scratch. Basic principles of the belt first. Fine with you, Tim?" He checks, showing he has learned something in the past couple of hours. Always best to get a second opinion on things, especially a starting point. I nod whilst beginning to clear the board.

"Absolutely."

 **Dick**

I walk us further into the cave. We go as far as the steps to the vehicle park, some two floors down from the command centre and totally out of earshot. I lace my fingers on top of my head and sigh at him. He doesn't look too pleased with himself either.

"What the hell is going with us, Jay? Why are at each other's throats? You think it's just testosterone or...?"

He sighs back. "Nah. It's obviously the fact that you don't like me and I resent the hell out of you. That's what the problem is." He says to take all the tact out of this talk of ours. Great. I take my hands off my head and shrug.

"We've got to stick whatever's pissing us off about each other to one side before we become liabilities here. You agree with me, man?"

"You know what I hate most about you, Golden Boy? Your acrobatic ability. Because I'm not as good at flipping around as you, but Bruce gives me no leeway for it. I'm a street kid, Dick. I lived homeless for over a year, getting my ass fucked for a warm bed and a hot meal. How the fuck is it fair I'm held to the same standards as you? Before I got in this cave, I'd never even done a handstand, let alone anything as complicated as you apparently did every night without thinking. I can't _be_ you. But, he doesn't care. If I'm not your equal, in his eyes, I'm worthless. That's what pisses me off about you. You're so naturally talented and perfect, you don't realise how hard this shit is for a normal kid to master. And you're so smug about it. So, fucking smug, especially in my time."

And the gloves are off. I think I wait about two seconds before giving as good as I just got.

"Yeah? Well, I think you're a thug, no better than the gangbangers I stop in the streets every night. I don't know why he'd ever go for you, out of everyone in the whole world, as my successor. He tried to tell me it was because he saw the same potential in you as he did me. He said you deserved a chance to give back. I call bullshit on that. I say he took you on because he felt sorry for you, eating out the garbage or whatever you did to survive. And I think he's created a monster. I think whatever you are now, is only half-as-bad as you're going to become in future. That's why I don't like you. Because you're an asshole and a disaster waiting to happen."

We just glare at each other, quietly seething for what seems like a really long time. "Being Robin sucks, huh?" Jason says suddenly to completely change the dynamic of our conversation, mainly because I agree with him.

"Yeah, it really does. Because crap like this keeps happening more and more." I reply before sitting down on the steps. He sits down beside me on the same step, nodding.

"I'm so fucking tired of it, man. I wake up sore all the time." He says to give us some more common ground. I'm tired too, more than I was when I started this gig.

"There's only so many times in my life I want to get hit in the face." I tell him. He smirks.

"Is it never?"

I sigh. "It was. Now I'll settle for less than fifty-thousand."

"Yeah, that's a good stopping point. Still, we'll probably be vegetables before then."

"Or as just as crazy as Bruce."

"I really don't know which is worse anymore." He says to really drag us into the depths of despair. Misery loves company.

We look at each other and sigh. Even if we're not each other's biggest fans, it's clear we've both been jaded by living in Bruce's shadow too long. I can see it in his eyes, probably just as much as he can read it in mine. "I'm sorry I'm smug to you, Jay. This job's hard enough without your predecessor making it worse." I tell him honestly. He smiles.

"I like you better at my age, Ponytail. You're a lot more fun when you're just as jaded as I am and not trying to hide it behind a false front."

I smile back. "Yeah, I bet. Can we be good to each other from now on? We've laid all our cards on the table now; there's literally nothing left to fight about." I don't want to fight him. I legitimately think he'd eat me alive in hand-to-hand combat; the guy's a tank. Seeing him naked doesn't change that, which actually, is more frightening. He rolls his eyes.

"We're guys, Dick. There's always something to fight about. You're right though. If we can sit naked on a bed ogling each other's worst scars without getting red-faced, and we can give each other a verbal colonic without throwing a punch, I think we can play nice together." He says with a nod. We sit there in quiet for a few seconds before I feel like I have to clarify something else before we go back to the think-tank.

"You know I respect you, right, Jay? What you've done, following in my footsteps, is ridiculous." I say without any hyperbole whatsoever. He shrugs.

"I know. I've always respected you too, Golden Boy. You're just...a tough act to follow. Sometimes I wished you'd been more of a fuck-up. Maybe then, the big guy wouldn't have been such a bastard to me."

"I've messed up plenty, Jay. You must know about Judge Watkins, right? That haunts me almost every time I close my eyes. I almost died the same night. Then I joined a cult..."

"I know the story. You've told me enough times, usually as a lecture. From now on, we won't fight in front of the children. You have my word." He sticks out his left hand without taking his arm off his thigh. I reach across my body to shake it with my right. He's a Robin. That's enough for me.

"Mine too, Jay. Ready to go pretend we understand whatever they've come up with?"

"Hell, yes. How blank is your face going to be at the end of their explanation?" He asks as we both get to our feet and begin to climb.

"I'm thinking a six. That's mildly befuddled, like Alfie trying to understand what Dubstep is." I tell him, wondering if he's seen it before.

"I'm going for a seven. That's confused, but visibly pissed-off because I don't understand, like Bruce trying to play Call of Duty and getting sniped by twelve-year-olds." He says to tell me he's seen more than his fair share of faces for the scale. More common ground. This could work.

"Oh, that sounds like a good one. Maybe we could both do angry Bruce for when the explanation's over."

"Stereo, right? Guarantee it'll freak them both out. Remember to pull it at the end though, so they're really confused."

"Sounds good to me."


	9. Chapter 9

**Shattered 9**

 **Bruce**

My current circumstances are less than desirable, given what is at stake. Judging from the burnt and fused condition of Damian's belt, I presume he did not adjust the phase variance properly. As a result, both Alfred and I have been shifted out of the time distortion and into what appears to be the space between dimensions, a kind of nether realm populated by echoes of the past. These echoes manifest themselves as faceless silhouettes wandering endlessly through a dark void, each regurgitating speech from incidents of my history. Two shambling together in tandem, recite an argument Alfred and I had when I was barely thirteen.

"You have to let me go, Alfred!" One silhouette says to the other in perfect mimicry of my then breaking voice. The other gifts its companion a snort.

"I do not have to do anything of the sort, young man! Mozambique is not safe at present, for holidays or anything else you might care to mention. You are not going." The one playing Alfred retorts, again delivering an impression that is eerie in its accuracy.

I have tried to communicate with these phantasms to no avail. They are either ignoring me or are unaware of our intrusion into their space. Alfred's attempts to make physical contact with them has also proved fruitless. They are not solid, having a consistency similar to smoke instead of anything human. We have no idea how long we have been here, but I already know the boys will be doing their utmost to retrieve us.

"Oxygen, Master Bruce." Alfred remarks to me as we eavesdrop on another passing pair of ghosts. These two are reciting a heated ethics debate between myself and Jason. I nod my head, understanding his meaning.

"Yes, perhaps an inexhaustible supply. It is clear we are meant to stay alive in this place."

"Without water, we shan't last longer than a few days, inexhaustible supply or not." The old man comments, mirroring my own survival concerns.

"Time seems remarkably fluid in this place, old friend. It is difficult to ascertain whether we have been here for minutes or years."

"Are we quite certain the belt cannot be repaired or reversed in some fashion?" He asks folding his arms. This is either the first or hundredth time he has posed this question. It is becoming difficult to recall what conversations we have already experienced. I shake my head.

"The internal mechanisms are fused and burnt out. It is entirely non-functional. Our only realistic hope for escape rests with the boys." I tell him without glancing down at the belt. I know I have examined it thoroughly. That I am sure of. The old man sighs.

"And how do you imagine they will go about rescuing us from this void?"

"It would appear one can only come here if an implosion is triggered. To arrive here, they will have to repeat the accident that sent us here to begin with." I say as one roving silhouette emits Joker's ear-splitting cackle as another shouts over the noise in my voice. The imitations are beyond disconcerting.

"What are these creatures, Sir? Are they aberrations of a sort as well?" Alfred asks some time later. I shake my head.

"I believe they are physical manifestations of my memories. This void may be populated by the thoughts of those trapped within it. Time and space do not seem important to the physical laws of this place."

"But there are thousands of these things roaming about. How many memories do you have?"

"Clearly enough to fill an endless void of darkness. You will be contributing as well."

"And, we cannot simply 'think' of an exit from this place?"

"Oddly enough, the first thing I thought of was an escape of some sort. Didn't you?"

"I admit...it did cross my mind."

"And we are still trapped here. It does not translate all thought, only those related to memory."

We pause as another pair saunter by on our left, these ones engaged in an argument that is alien to me. It sounds like Damian and Alfred yelling about time aberrations, confirming my suspicions that we are the ones inadvertently creating these after-images.

"Sir, a thought occurs. A new one, I think. If the accident fused the components of the belt, will not recreating the accident result in the same thing in their belts when mounting a rescue?" The old man says. So, he realises the conundrum before us. I nod.

"That is correct. Hopefully they will realise this and adjust accordingly. It would be far more conducive to use two belts calibrated to differing fields and create a doorway between dimensions than actually come here themselves. If they do, they risk trapping themselves as well."

 **Damian**

I am beyond tired. We have been theorising and planning for almost twelve hours. None of us have slept in more than a day...and it shows. Strong black coffee is no longer sufficient to keep us lucid. Everyone is micro napping. Jason falls asleep for a minute, Dick for thirty seconds. Even I lapse into light sleep for almost two minutes before waking. We have exhausted ourselves in pursuit of the solution to retrieving Father and Alfred safely. We have a plan that may work. It may...may work.

"We use the...the telemetric data from Father's belt...at the moment...moment he and Alfred disappeared...imploded...whatever...to simulate his electronic field...we then...create a..." I think I drift off whilst standing at the board. I snap awake, completely disorientated, and continue. I stab the board with my marker's tip to keep everything together. "an artificial field to simulate Alfred's when they...went...and then...by the wearers interacting with these fields, we create a bridge between...between us...and them." I finish before slumping against the frame the board is situated on. I close my eyes and feel my body beg me to lie down.

"And...this'll work?" I hear Jason ask from what seems like a great distance away. I just about manage to nod.

"In theory. We therefore only need to manufacture two belts...We can start..."

"Tomorrow." Dick says to stir me back to full conscious to stare at him in incredulity. The first Robin is just managing to prop his head up with his hand as he sits in a nearby chair. His blue eyes can barely focus. "You messed this up when you were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Can you imagine what could go wrong if we try this like zombies? We won't even get close."

I know he is right. But I need to rescue Father before I lose him again...to another of my blunders. I think I flap my hand, but my arm feels too heavy to lift.

"You can retire. I will begin the manufacture process...to get a head start." I say only for Tim to take the marker from my hand and shake his head.

"This is Bruce, Damian. He can survive anywhere, even if it's nowhere. The man is as near to indestructible as human beings can get without being a meta. We can sleep. He'll be waiting." My predecessor informs me in a tone I am too tired to take umbrage with. I want to argue the point...very badly. My mouth no longer works properly, so I can't.

"Yeah, Dami. And Al's with him. That means he's alive and kicking too." Jason adds drunkenly rising to his feet. "I know Bruce can go seventy-plus hours without sleep, but we really can't. We shouldn't try either. Right, Golden Boy?" Jason is trying to get Dick's vote of confidence on the matter. Unfortunately, the first Robin is no longer coherent enough to form a sentence, much less give his blessing. Dick just nods absently.

"Yeah, sleep. I... sleep. Need..." We all hear him mumble before somehow standing up and staggering towards the stairs. Jason smirks at him whilst pressing his palms into closed eyes.

"My fucking hero, right there." The second Robin mutters under his breath as he turns to accompany Dick in leaving the cave.

I sigh at being defeated in something as arbitrary as a bedtime. Tim puts the marker to one side and claps me on the shoulder. "We'll pick it up tomorrow. Okay? We solved the equivalent of Fermat's theorem inside of half-a-day, instead of the four-hundred years it should have taken." He tells me. I despair at his inaccuracy.

It took three-hundred-and-fifty-eight years to prove Fermat's Last Theorem, not four centuries. Pedestrian error. I am too fatigued to even correct him though. I nod. Our solution was impressively conjured, given I had never planned for such a nightmare contingency. Not only was Father and Alfred lost to a quirk of my arrogance, but I was also forced to partner Tim Drake to reach the resolution after a humiliating display of emotional instability. Somehow, despite everything coinciding to ruin me, I have succeeded. It is the only comfort I can take from this...absolute shit-storm. I am definitely in need of rest.

We join the others in ascending to the house.

 **Jason**

I really don't want to wake up. Fuck knows who's gonna walk into my room naked this morning. Hopefully nobody, given how things are pretty serious around here now. I open my eyes and dig the fact that I'm alone and nobody's turned on the lights yet. Finally, some peace from all those assholes and their daddy issues. This is a great start to another day in Hell. I get out of bed, grab an awesome shower, throw on my sweats and go downstairs.

It's dark in the kitchen too. This day just gets better and better as I turn on the lights and pull one of the big guy's rations from the cupboard. Bruce made sure he always had enough supplies to see out the apocalypse and the rapture, even if they came at the same time. Today's breakfast is...

Beef stew? Fuck it: why not? Dinner for breakfast can only be a good thing.

I stick the packet inside the kettle and flip the switch. That'll boil in about two minutes. While that's doing its thing, I scope around to see if maybe Bruce had some emergency cigarettes in reserve too. It's pretty hopeless, I know, but I might as well try my luck. Given what he told me on the roof, I won't be getting lung cancer or anything in the near future. Nothing. Of course, there's nothing. Nobody here smok-

Al.

Al told me once that he used to smoke in the army. Then he told me he quit when Bruce was born but started up again when the big guy first put on the cowl. He only kicked the act when Ponytail came to live here. Which means, this Al, the one trapped here with us, still smokes. Which means...he'll have a stash somewhere Dami doesn't go. That can only be his bedroom. Since I've got a whole sixty seconds before my breakfast boils, I make a run across the house to the old guy's room and get ready for a raid.

It takes all of ten seconds to twig there's a fresh carton of smokes hidden in his sock drawer and then all of two seconds to swipe it and begin the sprint back to my breakfast. I slide through the doorway just in time to find the most apathetic Breakfast Club tribute in the world has suddenly appeared around the main island. All three of them look at me and the unlit cigarette in my hand. I clear the air immediately.

"The beef stew is mine." I say.

"You know there are breakfast ones, right, Jay?" Dick tells me like I've never opened a military ration box before. I roll my eyes.

"Did you know you can use a stove for something other than cooking?" I fire back crossing the room, lighting the hob and stooping over the flame with the cigarette clamped between my teeth. I take a couple of short drags to test the flavour and then treat myself to a long one to celebrate a successful heist. Dick smiles at me.

"You want a coffee, tough guy?" He asks gesturing to the three mugs he's lined up on the breakfast island. I wrinkle my nose.

"I hate coffee, Ponytail. So, no thanks." I say exhaling a wicked plume of smoke. "So, now we're all lucid again, do we still think this is a good idea?" I ask them all, leaning against the countertop behind me. Damian nods.

"It is a sound idea, given our circumstances. It is not a 'good' idea though. Nothing ever is when you are toying with the fabric of space-time and reality as we know it. However, it is the only thing we can do with the resources we have at our disposal. I want to say we can have the belts ready in a matter of hours and mount a rescue shortly after."

"And... why can't you?" I inquire taking another drag.

"Because predicting the future is dangerous. And, although I really want to conduct some tests prior to attempting this plan, there is no way to test its functionality other than to do it for real."

"So, this is a one-shot deal, huh?" Golden Boy checks sipping his coffee and grimacing. I know he hates coffee too. Tim nods.

"Yep. We're...going to just have to hope everything we've theorised about this plan is right and pray it works. If even one thing is wrong with the plan, we're going to have a long time to point fingers at one another." Robin Three explains with a forced smile. We're all tense. We all know that one more fuck-up spells the end for our attempts to get out of this backwards Hell. I take one more drag and stub it out on the countertop.

"So, back to the roof where this happened once the belts are good...and then we open this breach between dimension. While the smart guys are holding the door open, the muscle goes in and gets them out. Is that pretty much our plan, Dami?" I ask taking the final empty seat around the breakfast island with the rest of the Robin 'think tank'. Bruce's offspring doesn't look too impressed by me dumbing down his strategy, but he nods anyway.

"More or less. Let me be clear though: if this doesn't work, there is no alternative solution to our problem, no plan B. We cannot restore the timeline without Father. It is impossible." Damian says with the kind of ominous delivery his old man does. It gives me chills hearing him channel the big guy so well. He sips his coffee. "If we do get stranded here for the rest of our natural lives though, I am staking my claim to Father's room."

Yeah, like we'd even want to live in the same place if this all goes south on us. If I was stuck here forever, I sure as hell wouldn't want to live with that smug asshole. To be honest, I doubt I'd ever want to speak to any of these guys again. What would we talk about? How hard we fucking failed him and Al? How much we wish we could've done things differently? No thanks. I smirk at Damian. "You can have your old man's tomb, if you want, Dami. Whatever makes you feel better." I say getting to my feet. "Can we get this show on the road now?"

 **Dick**

This was bound to happen, given how well things have developed for us so far. Are the belts ready? Yes. Are we in the same time period as when they disappeared? Yes. Is the roof that we need to open the crazy-ass gateway on to get them back clear of time aberrations? Er...not really...

We're perched on the building opposite the rendezvous point watching nearly three dozen of those dead-eyed, zombie monsters mill around the rooftop. They don't look like they're in a hurry to leave either. I think we all know how this is going to be fixed. That must be why all four of us are standing on the edge, readying to clear a gap only a Robin can do, and holding some kind of projectile in our hands.

Whoever these people are or were, they're in our way. We're getting Bruce and Alfie back. Nothing is going to stop us. We all jump without calling our targets. I guess this is where I'll see if all of us really did cut our teeth in the big guy's crazy training regime. No-one but me and Bruce could make it out of a situation like this alive. Nobody but Batman and Robin can deal with a scenario like this. Good job there's four of us then.

I target the group right in front of me, throw my batarang and then pile in with a couple of corkscrew kicks to thin them down immediately. They get back up, of course, but that doesn't matter to me. I just want them closer to the edge. I don't get too showy with my moves. I counter some slow lunging with a series of hammer fists and roundhouse kicks that keep pushing them back towards the edge. Eventually, they're only a couple of feet from going over the side of the roof, at which point I let one advance forward to set up the masterstroke of my combat plan. One slow swing of a fist is countered into a modified shoulder throw that I aim squarely at the cluster teetering on the brink of a bad fall. The whole group gets knocked over the side like human bowling pins.

Now, if I'd let them fall all the way down to the sidewalk, then I'd be a monster. But since I haven't and instead dropped them six feet down to a fire escape that has no access back up to the roof, I'll just settle for strategic genius instead. When I turn around, it becomes pretty clear who taught all of us to fight. Bruce's signatures are in all of our fighting styles. Jason throws a punch like the big man would, Damian sweeps a leg with his technique, and Tim does the same sweet spinning heel kick that Bruce uses to take down his bigger opponents. The only department we all outshine him on is speed. I thought I was the fastest guy here, but that's literally only by a second or two. I got to watch them all put down their last target and be amazed that they incapacitated all their guys without resorting to a roof push to help them along the way. Impressive doesn't begin to describe it.

"Once we open this rift, you'll likely have all of...twenty seconds to get in, find them and then get out before it all collapses." Tim tells me and Jason as we line up for what's going to be the most intense foot race in existence. Jason looks over me and grins.

"Ready to see who runs fastest in another dimension, Ponytail. Smart money says it's me." He says.

"If you can shift that extra fifteen pounds of muscle faster than I can run, you deserve to win. Problem is you won't." I retort with a smile of my own. Jason just rolls his eyes.

"If you're quite done, let's get this over with." Damian tells us both as he activates his belt and stands opposite Tim. "Twenty seconds. No longer."

We watch the pair of them raise their arms above their heads and then slope their hands together to create an arch. There's a flash of red light when they make contact before a doorway appears in the space between their bodies. It's barely a foot across and pitch-black, but we know time's already running out. I still sprint out ahead of Jason to go into the unknown first.

I don't know how to interpret what the hell I'm seeing as I sprint amongst a sea of ghosts. Nothing else matters but getting Bruce and Alfie out of here. I hear Jason sliding into position beside me. Must be less than fifteen seconds now. Five seconds to find them and get back. I nearly got knocked over by Bruce as he hurtles towards the doorway but manage to stay on my feet and pivot a one-eighty instead. Of course, he knows what's going on. This is Bruce: the guy seems to know just about everything. We both clatter through the doorway, followed only a split second behind by Alfie and Jason. The doorway collapses as soon as we're all through.

Bruce looks at us, his face as blank and unreadable as ever. "What kept you?" He asks before pulling out his grapnel. "We have to move beyond the city limits before my unfiltered presence reverts this area back to the stone age." Nobody even gets a word in before he's fired the line and swung out across the cityscape as if nothing happened at all. What do we do, the boys who just pulled off a miracle of modern science? We follow him without even thinking. Because if the last day-and-a-half has proven anything, it's that we're all as crazy as he is.

 **Bruce**

We move beyond the city limits without incident. Alfred is able to comfortably navigate the streets via a borrowed motorcycle, whilst the boys and I transit across the sky in a pattern that almost approaches unison. When we arrive at the safety point, I find they have shrewdly acquired a pickup truck that already has four motorcycles loaded at the rear. Evidently, they drove out here on their bikes and then appropriated the vehicle after arriving, believing they would retrieve Alfred and myself from the void. Good. I had every confidence in their abilities.

Since the truck only has five seats, Alfred graciously elects to ride his new bike back to the cave. I offer all the boys the choice of riding in tandem with the old man or joining me in the truck. In a strange choice, all four state their wish to be passengers. I try not to dwell on this whilst starting the ignition and beginning the journey back. Damian rides shotgun and does not even have to fight for the position.

"I thought I had killed you both." He tells me after five minutes of deathly silence.

"I am glad you realised your mistake. I doubt the void would sustain our presence much longer." I say without looking over. I hear him offer a contemplative sigh.

"I'm sorry, Father. I should have tested my equipment properly. If I had..."

"Do not concern yourself with things that cannot be changed, son. Is the network operational?"

"Yes, Father."

"And the algorithm that predicts the time shifts, is it accurate?"

"We found you, didn't we?"

"Yes, you did. Both Alfred and myself are very grateful for your rescue. However, our focus should now return to creating the necessary devices to restore time to normal and end this madness."

"Good job you're not an asshole, huh? Imagine if your kids had rescued you from oblivion and you acted like it was no big deal. Can you even guess how pissed off they'd all be?" Jason says with too much sarcasm to ignore. I grasp his point. At this stage, I do not even know how long I have been gone. Time inside the void was difficult to measure.

"How long have I been...away?" I ask in an effort to broach the topic gently. Damian shrugs and folds his arms.

"Nothing like your other trip through time, Father, barely forty hours. It felt...much longer." He says. I reach over and squeeze his bicep in a gesture I hope voices my understanding of his plight. He has already lost me once or twice: losing me again would almost be too cruel to imagine. I decide to clear my throat and address them all.

"You are all too capable to lose me to something as trivial as fractured time. We will always find one another. No matter how dark everything seems, we will always find a solution. You found a solution to what should be an impossible problem. You should all be proud of your efforts. I am. Let us hurry and fix what is broken as soon as possible."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Here is the belated update to Shattered. Bruce's POV. After light-hearted fare at the manor, Bruce is all business when trying to acquire the materials to finally chart a course home. However, a mysterious individual makes their presence known in a big way, prompting Bruce to proceed with caution as he and the boys attempt to restore time.**

 **Please read and review.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 10**

 **Bruce**

I remember watching the film and beginning to nod. The next thing I remember is waking up and being used as a make-shift pillow by all four of the boys. Dick is asleep with his head on my right side, Damian on my left. Jason has his head on my right thigh, with Dick's feet jammed under his back. Tim mirrors him with Damian's feet trapped under his side. All of them are asleep and, despite their bizarre arrangement of tangled limbs, appear to be sleeping well. How this phenomenon occurred is still something of a mystery to me.

I recall watching Unforgiven with Clint Eastwood alone. Damian wished to join me, so I invited him to sit on the vacant side of the bed. Less than ten minutes later, Dick invited himself to sit on the small sliver of space on my opposite side. I moved so he was not hanging off the bed and found myself sandwiched between them. This was awkward, and unexpected, but not overly so. But then both Jason and Tim decided to join the viewing gallery and installed themselves at the foot of the bed on their stomachs. Having just returned from a void of non-existence, I was looking forward to spending the evening alone. I was going to inform them of this desire, only for Alfred to make turning them away impossible.

He brought popcorn. Enough to sustain everybody, including himself, for the duration of the picture. He invited himself to sit in the armchair off to one side of the bed. All of them – four fifteen-year-old boys and the old man – turned my bedroom into a movie theatre and did so right in front of my eyes. I don't think I had words to explain my feelings at that time, so I continued to watch the film, despite the high level of chatter and chewing.

Evidently, at some point, the movie theatre became a kind of slumber party. All four boys are covered by blankets. I look around for the old man and find him slumped back in the armchair also covered in a blanket. I have no doubt he has provided the blankets too. Alfred likely orchestrated this entire event like the master puppeteer he is. I want to be surprised by their collective scheme to trap me in a group activity and situation I cannot escape. But, at some point or another, all of them have done so. Insofar as I can remember, Alfred is the only one who has not slept in my bed with me at least once. Wait...no, when I was seven years old and scared of monsters under my bed...so, all of them then.

I suppose I should be thankful Alfred has not taken up residence on my bed as well. That would definitely have tipped me over the edge. As it is, I am merely irritated none of them took my feelings into account. I am a heterosexual man, one who has never erred in my preference for the company of women. I do not particularly want to sleep surrounded by a veritable avalanche of male adolescence, especially the four boys I consider to all be my sons. One of them is acceptable, given the right extraneous circumstances. All four of them simultaneously is too much for me to handle.

And they got popcorn all over my bed. It is literally everywhere I look.

I sit up. Both Dick and Damian drop onto the mattress and wake up in bleary-eyed confusion. I have to lift both my legs and shake them to dislodge Jason and Tim. They also awake disorientated by the sudden change. The collective noise the quartet make stirs the old man back to consciousness too. Once they have all gathered their wits, they look at me in silence. I run my gaze over each of them in turn and hope my displeasure with this situation is palpable.

"That is not how I wanted to wake up." I tell them all sternly.

"We're not letting you out of our sight now, big guy." Dick replies. "Until this is fixed, we all agreed that we should all have eyes on you. Tim and Dami have made it really clear we can't restore time without you."

"Yeah, plus, Al thought it would help us all sleep better if we bedded down with you." Jason adds stifling a yawn. "I don't know if you could tell, but we were all...kind of fucked where sleep was concerned. We needed a really good snooze to get up for what's ahead."

"I am forty-one years old. I do not need chaperoning, not by adolescents and an old man." I say picking up half-a-dozen pieces of popcorn, "not if _this_ is the end-product."

They all grin sheepishly. Alfred ventures to open his mouth. "Sir, if I may interject for a moment..."

"No, you have already been outed as the ringleader of this circus. I don't want an explanation for how my bedroom has become a youth hostel. I want you all to get off my bed, or out of my chair, and tidy up this mess." I say with enough firmness to rouse all of them to action. The boys begin to forage the sheets for popcorn whilst the old man gathers and folds the blankets. Their willingness to do as instructed is strange, considering how easily they flouted all known rules of etiquette and civility last night.

Five minutes later finds them all stood opposite me, apparently waiting to see if my mood has improved. It has, now the room is clean and I am no longer a novelty prop. I offer up a tired sigh.

"I am not ignorant of why you all felt the need to be in my company last night. I understand this situation is stressful for everyone, myself and Alfred included. However, in future, please do me the common courtesy of asking if such behaviours are acceptable before engaging in them. I do not like being ganged-up on in this fashion. It is more than unfair."

"You would've said 'no', Father." Damian says with a wistful smile. "We could not have you say 'no' to us, not last night."

"Stuff is scary here, Bruce." Tim adds. "And we're all scared. The only person who isn't scared is you. I literally don't know how you can't be afraid of what's going on here, but we're all glad you're not. Otherwise, we'd all be major insomniacs by now."

"I would not have said 'no' to everyone sleeping in one room." I tell them to prompt a smattering of raised eyebrows. "I only thing I protest about such sleeping arrangements, besides the popcorn, is the fact that I do not wish to share my bed with four fifteen-year-old boys." I say shoving my hands into the pockets of my dressing gown. "If you all wish to sleep in my room, you can sleep on the floor. However, when there are good beds going to waste, it seems absurd to not sleep in them." I look at Jason. "Thank you for wearing clothes. I know it isn't an easy feat for you to manage."

"You know I'd do anything for you, big guy, even sleep funny." Jason replies with his usual lopsided grin. That cheers me up somewhat, as the gesture always does. I smile.

"It must've felt strange for you, trying to sleep fully-clothed with your head on my thigh."

"I'm just really glad you shower so much." Jason retorts to yield chuckles from everyone present, including myself. Everyone bar Damian looks astonished by my levity in the matter.

"You really are more chilled, aren't you?" Dick says before looking at Damian. "Is he like this with you?"

"Father...likes to laugh more than I would have imagined. It used to annoy me." My youngest son remarks to encourage Dick to offer yet another terrible joke.

"What do you call a pile of cats?" The first Robin says as if it is the first time he has ever told this tired anecdote.

I sigh. "A...meowtain. None of your jokes are funny though, Dick. They never have been."

"You say that like I should believe you. I bet I still tell them in the future. Hey Damian, what kind of underwear do..."

"Thunderwear. Clouds wear Thunderwear. I am fully acquainted with your repertoire, Dick. Far more than I would like." Damian says to cut him off with his usual grace. I am glad to see the boy can still be rude when I need him to be.

"Yes, well, we are all acquainted with his jokes, Son."

After breakfast, we elected to begin gathering the necessary materials and information to finally construct Clock King's time dilation matrix. This meant that I had to again don a special belt in order to interact with the native environment. This time however, everyone will wear such devices, to avoid any repeat trips to the void. I make my orders very clear and concise. Track down Fugit as a student and graduate student, and then acquire all blueprints and designs pertaining to his time-altering device. Once in our possession and analysed, we then need to gather the necessary materials to begin construction.

From what I have gleaned in past encounters with Clock King's technology, the only vital component required for the time-altering devices to function is what is known as the Chronosphere. Used as a prism to harness the dilation abilities, the Chronosphere must be acquired if we ever hope to replicate the accident that brought us here. For years, it was housed in the Teem Institute's precursor, the Dauntless Research Group under the watchful eye of its creator, Professor Carter Nichols. Clock King stole the device five years ago to fund his criminal enterprises and has successfully held onto it ever since.

My hope now is that, by using the prediction algorithm, we can intercept the Chronosphere prior to its theft by Fugit. Once we have it in our possession, the remainder of building the device will be child's play by comparison. To accomplish our goals in the quickest time possible, I have dispatched Jason and Tim to Gotham University and Dick and Damian to what I have determined was Fugit's apartment whilst a graduate student in Park Row. I am left with the task of securing the Chronosphere from DRG.

Alfred is remaining behind to conduct a supporting role. The boys did not want me to go on a solo venture, but our predicament and the unique nature of the building I am trying to navigate means they had little choice but to let me proceed. This is a one-man operation, for reasons that will become clear once I breach DRG's initial defences.

The algorithm has predicted both time periods required for the teams to obtain the relevant documents are to occur within fifty minutes of one another. Since the DRG building did not get repurposed until recently, I have just enough time to infiltrate the compound and steal the Chronosphere before the city shifts to a period after the research group's dissolution two years ago. With that in mind, I act fast.

Even with the fractured and broken nature of time all around us, artificial security systems and devices appear unaffected. The Dauntless Research Group complex could once boast to having the most frustrating and impregnable security grids in the world. The Clock King took the easy route to obtaining the Chronosphere by entering the laboratory in broad daylight and snatching it when Nichols was occupied elsewhere. I have no such luxury. Since it is always the anniversary and time of my parents' deaths, the building is fully locked-down for the evening. Time aberrations swarm the perimeter fence of the compound, obviously drawn here by my abnormal presence. I will require all my skills and tools to breach such staunch defences. My only comfort stems from the fact that, if I fail in this venture, I will undoubtedly receive a second chance when the city time shifts back to this moment in roughly twenty-four hours. I will not fail though. The system may have been state-of-the-art when it was built, but it is already showing its age. What was once impossible is now only unlikely. I glide from a neighbouring roof to land inside the perimeter fence and brace myself for what comes next.

DRG was authorised by the city council to use lethal force to protect its property, should the ten-foot high fence and razor wire not prove enough of a deterrent to would-be thieves. As a consequence, CCTV cameras distributed around the immediate area are synced to automatically operated fifty-calibre machine guns that have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree swivel capability. There are four fifty-calibre guns currently trained on my position, patiently awaiting movement from myself to launch their opening volleys. One round is sufficient to break my bones, but not punch through my suit. However, since each gun is capable of firing between four-hundred and five-hundred-and-seventy-five rounds per minute, I will be cut to shreds in a matter of seconds once they commence their attack.

Of course, I have a strategy for avoiding such a gruesome end.

I shift an inch and then drop to the ground as my current position lets them blast one another to smithereens without my body to act as a buffer. It takes less than ten seconds to ensure all four are wholly inoperable. I slowly get back to my feet and check my surroundings. Excellent. The first line of defence has been surmounted. Moving on...

During the next thirty minutes, both my hacking ability and physical prowess are tested to their limit, despite my efforts to conserve energy. The security grids are too tight to allow more than one person to bypass them undetected and require reflexes and timing beyond the capabilities of most Olympic gymnasts in conjunction with a faultless memory of this building's layout and design. At their present stages of development, none of the boys are viable candidates. Although their reflexes are excellent and their memories even more so, I have the advantage of having infiltrated this building before and nearly fifteen years of studying its security to improve the cave's own grid system against intruders.

In reaching the final door, I have negotiated twelve magnetically locked doors, avoided the gaze of nearly three-dozen cameras and their associated motion sensors and trembler devices, and either crawled or vaulted myself over eight infrared laser fields. This does not include bypassing the keypad codes required to open the doors and tricking the system into accepting my forged identity chip as that of Professor Nichols, the only man with access to the Chronosphere lab. Regardless of my difficulties, I am right where I want to be, given time constraints.

The last door barring me from the lab is a simple four-digit alpha-numeric code, entered on a standard keypad. I enter the day and month of Nichols's birthday and am greeted with a confirmatory ping of acceptance. The other doors required encryption software and patience to unlock – this is a welcome change. I step inside the lab and move towards the chamber the Chronosphere is housed in at night.

I would radio the other teams and tell them of my progress, but the system jams all unauthorised communication channels as another layer of security against co-ordinated thefts. No matter. They know that in twenty minutes, the city will experience a time shift and it will be their turn to act, whether I am successful or not. However, I am fairly confident I will leave here with the Chronosphere. All that is left is to open the chamber and take the mechanism.

The chamber will open to a palm-print from Nichols and Nichols alone. I reach into my utility belt and retrieve the latex hand mould I crafted prior to leaving the cave. Once it is slipped over my own hand, the system reads it as the professor's without hesitation. The door hisses open and I move to collect the Chronosphere…

Only to find it missing. This doesn't make sense…I check my wrist communicator to verify this is the correct time period. It reads as correct, approximately nine months before Clock King stole the mechanism for his own purposes. It should be here. Professor Nichols would have never taken such a device home with him…

"Looking for something, Bruce?"

I turn around to find an impossibility staring me in the face. Clock King. Alive. I glance down at his hands. One of them is holding a time-dilation device I recognise from the night this whole mess began. It looks newly-constructed. I gesture to it.

"If you are foolish enough to activate that device inside a time bubble…"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm the Clock King, remember? I know all about the dangers of time." He informs me with what I perceive to be only a trace of his usual sarcasm and arrogance. He seems oddly subdued. I frown.

"How did you survive the flashpoint of that explosion?"

"Not important at this very moment, Bruce. Suffice to say, I've learned a lot about you since getting stuck here. I don't know why I didn't guess who you were before. It all makes sense now."

I shake my head. "There is no conceivable method you could have infiltrated this laboratory ahead of me. How did you get in and steal the Chronosphere?"

He shrugs. "Does it matter? I know for a fact you need the Chronosphere to construct my time-dilation device, so you can then replicate the accident and restore time. If anything, I've done you a favour." Fugit tosses me the device. I catch it handily enough, suspecting sabotage. "You're not the only one who wants to go back to the real world. Shall we leave?"

"It would be prudent to wait for the time shift. It will make escape far simpler."

"Yes, or…" I watch as the Clock King destabilises the outer wall of the lab with nothing but a wave of his hand. Before I can begin to fathom what this ability could mean, an arch has been created. "We could take a shortcut, my treat."

"I am not stepping into any foreign realm with you. You can go, but I am staying until the time shift occurs."

"Suit yourself. You've got what you need now, after all."

"Have I?" I check before carefully opening the device. The Chronosphere is housed inside the dilation chamber, as it ought to be. I snap the device shut again. I look at him and notice for the first time how worn and grey he looks. I can pick out veins etching their way across any visible skin. They are green instead of blue. Evidently, something is very wrong with him. "We need to talk, Fugit." I say, already sensing I will not get my answers tonight.

He smiles. "And we will. When the time is right." He informs me before disappearing into the archway which seals up behind him as if it were never there. I blink twice before confirming that I am indeed holding both a working time dilation device and the Nichols Chronosphere. Both are still present. I am uncertain whether this development is troubling or not, given our plan centres wholly around replicating Fugit's technology. Despite his apparent co-operation, I still suspect an ulterior motive for such generosity beyond escape from this place.

It is also clear he has learned my identity, and possibly, the identities of both Damian and Alfred as well during his incarceration here. If so, he must understand my presence as integral to correcting our mutual mistake and restoring the timeline. But there are millions of questions to pose to him. Until he reappears, I must focus on the plan. The teams will still gather blueprints and documentation on the time-dilation devices. It will allow us to see whether the device given to me has been booby-trapped or tampered with in any way. Once back at the cave, the Infinity Engine can be perfected, and, within a matter of hours, we should be able to return home.

In theory…


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Penultimate chapter of Shattered. Bruce's POV. As they begin their final preparations to recreate the incident that brought them to the fractured space-time continuum, Bruce tests his suspicions that Clock King's knowledge of their identities has been obtained from a far more local source than any of them expected. What he deduces threatens to change the whole dynamic of the group until it becomes clear that they are all in it together, regardless of who they truly are.**

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 **Enjoy.**

 **Shattered 11**

 **Bruce**

It has been three hours since Fugit gave me his time-dilation device. He has not reappeared since vanishing into what appeared to be a realm between time and space. I have just finished debriefing the boys and Alfred in the cave on my efforts this evening. They are understandably perturbed by this turn of events, particularly Damian. The boy has been trapped here for over four years: why did Fugit did make his presence known before this moment? Is his appearance here somehow linked to my own arrival? And, if he has only just arrived, why does his appearance suggest he has spent decades trapped between the real world and this nightmare? There are almost too many questions to pose, none of them with definitive answers. Despite the confusion that has arisen from Clock King's sudden appearance, the original plan is still in place and running with far greater smoothness than anticipated.

The boys have acquired additional blueprints and materials concerning construction of the Infinity Engine. Having reviewed these schematics for myself, I am optimistic that the engine can be finished within forty-eight hours, if we all work through the night.

"So, you think the guy has lost his mind?" Jason asks leaning back against the control console.

"Possibly. It's also conceivable that his incarceration in this place has made him desperate enough to escape that he is willing to cooperate with anyone to achieve his goals." I respond with folded arms.

"And he knows who we all are? Who you are?" Dick checks.

I nod. "I believe anyone trapped here for long enough would make the connection between Bruce Wayne and Batman. The rest of you are then simple enough to uncover. However, there is nothing of value he can do with that information in this place."

"What about when we recreate the accident that caused the shattering effect? If he returns to the correct time still armed with that knowledge..." Damian says, trailing off deliberately to invite my imagination to fill in the blanks. I understand his concerns.

"Time will reset though." Tim points out, "It'll be as if none of this happened."

Damian nods his head. "I realise that, Tim, but Father's descriptions of Fugit's abilities suggest that he could be capable of almost anything. Who's to say that his powers won't somehow shield him from the effects of restoring the space-time continuum?"

"My question would be, if he has these abilities, and obviously knows how to restore time given he has seemingly traversed all of it, why has he simply not 'fixed' things himself?" Alfred says.

"Because he needs me." I tell them all succinctly. "I caused the shattering effect to begin with. Without me, standing right where I was when this all occurred, no-one in Gotham would be alive. To reverse the process requires my presence as well."

We all seem to expect Fugit to reappear at some point during our preparations to restore time. Damian in particular is constantly glancing over his shoulder as he and Tim work on constructing the core of the Infinity Engine. I must admit to also feeling trepidations at the thought of such an individual casually wandering into my inner sanctum. I am also growing suspicious that he watching us at this very moment, and perhaps, has been since our arrival. If so, he is either stowed in some obscure vantage point, an impossible feat given how few there actually are, or he is hiding in plain sight. And that could only mean one thing. He is one of us. And, given what I have observed thus far, he could only be masquerading as one person without arousing suspicion at his lack of knowledge with regards to my history. I cast a long look in Alfred's direction.

The old man is currently assisting Dick and Jason with building the skeletal frame of the engine and doing so with remarkable ease, given the device's alien nature. When our eyes meet, he does not hesitate to smile and wave amicably at me. If he is Fugit in disguise, his impersonation is a startling one. Everything from the way he moves to the way he talks is a perfect facsimile. I return the gesture and he resumes work. As I continue to study possible scenarios of how the two devices will interact and what must be done to achieve a flawless recreation of the incident that sent us here, I watch him.

Hours go by. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Until it is. It is so minute to almost be invisible, but I do see an anomaly with Alfred that heightens my suspicions. Dick has not pressed a steel panel into the frame correctly, leaving it jutting out. The old man sees this and helpfully pushes it into a correct position with the boy's thanks. But he only uses two fingers on his right hand to do so, instead of his entire hand. Due to an old war wound, Alfred has a noticeable weakness in his right hand as opposed to his left. Even when I was a young child, I remember him having to use his whole hand to push drawers and windows shut. It is a precaution he always takes to avoid upsetting his injury. He has NEVER only used two fingers to push or press anything with his right hand. Wherever possible, he uses his left instead. But not here, apparently, and not this time.

It is a mistake. It is an unconscious one, but it is still a mistake I recognise. When our eyes meet again, I wave him over to the command centre. He comes easily enough. I tell him we need to talk privately and we adjourn to inside the armoury. I close the door.

"What is it, Master Bruce? A scheduling issue?" He asks.

I shake my head. "No. I just wish to know why you have felt the need to pose as Alfred for the last four-and-a-half years, Fugit."

The old man looks puzzled. "I beg your pardon, Sir? What exactly are you implying?"

"You are not Alfred Pennyworth. I know you are not. On some level, perhaps I always knew, but could never explain why. Now it all makes sense though. How else could you get my son to trust you? What I do not understand is why you have been so loyal to him all this time. I realise you needed me to correct this fracturing, but why be so accommodating to Damian? How on earth could you fool him for so long without slipping up?" I say, laying all my cards on the table.

Alfred emits a deep sigh. "I've grown very fond of him over the years. With nobody else to talk to, it was the only way to stay sane." The man smiles at me and shakes his head. "Four days. It has only taken you four days to deduce who I really am, under all this subterfuge and method acting? You really are a phenomenal detective, Bruce. A ridiculous human being in general." He is still using his Pennyworth voice to speak.

"You gave yourself away when you appeared at the lab. There was little reason to believe you were not hiding among us."

"Why did you not suspect one of the boys?"

"Naked scar party." I say with a slight smile. "I know their scars and they know mine. They are the only ones who do. Even the real Alfred does not know those details. There are too many to keep track of."

Alfred grins. "You have some very strange children in your employ."

"That may be, but I also know them too intimately for anyone to copy successfully. Damian's arrogance is too difficult a trait for any shape shifter to convincingly play, as is Tim's intellect, Dick's sense of humour and Jason's pig-headedness. The only one you could possibly play with margin for error was Alfred. I must admit, you play him better than anyone I have ever seen."

"I owe the detail of my impersonation to Damian and his stories. I knew once you arrived, it would be very difficult to maintain the charade." Fugit says, dropping his vocal impression and speaking in his own voice now.

I am understandably intrigued at the scale of his subterfuge. "How did you know to imitate Alfred to begin with? Did you already know our true identities?"

"No. After the incident I was literally torn to pieces, but still in possession of a conscious mind. It took months to reassemble myself, once I learned how to do so. I am literally part of the fabric of this reality. I can go anywhere using the fractured continuum as a road system and have the ability to move between time periods at will. Controlling my appearance and voice are also side-effects of reconstituting my physical form. The only thing I cannot do it seems, is escape this place. After exhausting all my options, I tracked down Damian to this house, still not realising who he was. When I infiltrated his defences and pieced together his and your identities, I knew my only hope was as Alfred. I used a family portrait to approximate his form and my own imitation skills to do his voice. The rest was all Damian."

I am impressed with such a bold play on his part. It takes guts to fool Damian's shrewd nature. "And, then the pair of you deduced what had transpired together?" I ask.

"We did everything together. At first, I thought I would throttle him to death before we made any progress. But, he really is a wonderful boy underneath all the arrogance. I doubt anyone else his age could've coped with their situation as well."

I incline my head at this candid confession. "What is wrong with your own appearance? You look very ill."

Fugit sighs and plunges his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm dying, Bruce. I have been since I came here. In recent months, my decline has become more extreme. Chronoton radiation poisoning. No human is meant to absorb this kind of fallout. The mutation I experienced has now become a cancer that infects every cell of my body."

I think I am beginning to grasp where this is heading. I nod my head. "And, since you are a part of the stabilising force in this place..."

"When I die, this entire bubble that we are surviving in will collapse entirely." He says to confirm my suspicions.

"How long do you have?"

"Before your arrival, I estimated three to six months. That figure has now been reduced to a matter of days, four at most. Evidently, your presence as the progenitor of these time fragments has some debilitating effects on the bubble, the epicentre of the ripple effect magnifying it, so to speak." He says with less bitterness than I expected, given his predicament.

I nod my head. "And, I imagine the time fragments suddenly encompassing every July 26th from the stone age to now..."

"It exasperated the fragmentation effect inside the bubble. The strain of maintaining everything is beginning to wear me away." He says to again confirm my predictions on how close to oblivion the city really is at present.

"So, none of this help of yours is a ploy. You genuinely need time to be restored in order to survive." I say folding my arms and leaning back against the shelving.

He nods. "That is correct. You are my only chance at salvation now."

"Why did you take us to that void, if you needed me to act quickly?"

"A calculated risk. I wanted to ensure taking you there would not cause the bubble to collapse. I also needed to prove to myself that your boys could work together cohesively in a very short time period."

"There are easier ways of ascertaining such things."

"Not inside of a week there aren't. Are you going to tell them the truth about me?"

"That depends. Do you know why all of them are fifteen years old instead of random ages? Is there some significance to that age in making this plan work?" I ask, pressing him for as much information as possible while he is in such a cooperative mood.

He scratches the back of his head. "Another calculated risk, a far more dangerous one than the void. I forced them out of their time fragments and the memories they were integral to maintaining. I knew the best way of succeeding was to only provide you with people you would trust implicitly. Your own children were the most logical choice."

"You have the power to remove individuals from their time fragments?"

"I did four days ago. Doing so, weakened me further. The risk of pulling them out was making the fragmentation worse, likely too damaged for the five of us to repair, even with the Infinity Engine and my time-splicer. They're all fifteen because it made them equals. I imagined that a lack of pecking order might make them more willing to listen to one another. It worked as well as I could've hoped."

"I see. Very prudent, Fugit. They have worked well together in the circumstances."

"Well, they would do anything for you, Bruce, even die, or so I am told. Did Damian really die when he was ten years old?"

"Yes, he did."

"So, you really did go to Hell and back to resurrect him?"

"I would not call Apokolips Hell, but I suppose it is not far removed."

"You really do love them, don't you?"

I look him dead in the eye. "More than anything."

"Then I should tell them the truth. It is unfair to hide it from them any longer, especially Damian." Fugit says before attempting to move past me. I grab hold of his wrist to stop him.

"It would be better not to tell them. Their focus should be on the task at hand. Anything else would be a distraction and a hindrance to their progress. And Damian would be beyond angry with you for deceiving him for so long. We need him sharp going forward."

Fugit looks surprised for only a moment before nodding in agreement. "I have always admired your practicality, Master Bruce." He responds having resumed his Kensington accent with aplomb.

"Thank you for keeping him safe. It means a great deal to me." I tell him earnestly. Fugit nods his head, but says nothing. We open the door only to find all four Robins blocking our exit back into the cave.

Damian is wearing earphones and gloves that look remarkably like the prototype listening devices I was developing prior o arriving here. In theory, the finished article could hear though even sound-proofed doors and material. Judging by the sour expression on his face, it appears the boy has perfected the technology. The other boys look equally unimpressed with the pair of us. I would imagine Damian has not just been listening to our conversation, but relaying it as well.

"I hate how smart you are, Father." Damian announces pulling the earphones off his head. "One gesture and you have him completely unravelled. Meanwhile I still had no idea after nearly five years of his companionship. I'm such an idiot."

"We don't have time to rue past mistakes or the cruelty of hindsight, Son. That engine needs to be built within three days, otherwise we will all die and so will Gotham. Can you put aside whatever you are currently feeling for the good of the mission?"

"As long as he does not soil Alfred's reputation by playing dress-up anymore, then yes." Damian said jabbing a finger venomously at Fugit who nods in agreement.

"Okay, kid." Fugit says dropping his impersonation before suddenly transforming to his true appearance in a single burst of light. "No more tricks, I swear."

Damian looks visibly shocked at Fugit's haggard and now clearly dying body. The other boys move closer to get a better look at our former enemy's terminal illness.

"You could have simply told me the truth, Fugit." Damian says, taking hold of the man's green-veined hand and examining the extent of the damage. "You really will be dead in days if this is any indication."

"Yeah, well, _C'est la vie_ , kid." Fugit says before suddenly gripping hold of the boy's hand and squeezing it. "I'm sorry I lied to you all these years. It wasn't all fake, I swear." He adds in a far less casual tone. The boy notices the change immediately.

Damian still looks hurt by his deception but less angry. They have shared many moments together over the past four-and-a-half years. It cannot all have been a con on Fugit's part. I saw it in his eyes as Damian no doubt sees it now. The boy nods. "I know."

Fugit opens his mouth to say more only for Damian to raise his free hand to silence him. "It would be...vindictive of me to not forgive a dying man. So, I do forgive you, Fugit. Let us say no more on the matter."

I have never been prouder of him than I am now. He has grown immensely in the last five years, more than I had believed. The old Damian would not have forgiven Fugit's transgressions. He would have ripped out his throat and screamed at him until he turned blue. I am glad to see he has matured in more than just mind and body. His emotional maturity is beyond impressive in the circumstances.

I nod my head. "Let's get to work."


End file.
